THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



HECTOR MACNEILL, ESQ, 



A A'ETF EDITIO:\\ 
CORRECTED AXD ENLARGED. 



Veritaiis simplex oratio esL 



PHILADELPHIA : 

PUBLISHED BY BENJAMIN CHAPMAN, 

A, SXALI,, PnilfTER, 



1815, 



? 



^>^^ 






/' 



TO 

THE MEMORY 

OE 
HIS MUCU BELOVED AND LAMENTED FRIENp, 

JAMES CURRIE, M. D. 

THE 

FOLLOWING POEMS 

AS 

A LAST TRIBUTE TO HIS VIRTUI^, 

ARE INSCRIBED, 
BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT 



THIS EDITION. 



IT has been justly regretted by the few in this 
country, who have read the Poems of Hector Mac- 
neill that his works were not more generally known 
to the American public. In the year 1802, an edi- 
tion of the then existing pieces, was published in two 
volumes in New York. This edition however seems 
not to have had a very general circulation; as the 
publisher of the present edition meets with but few 
persons who have any knowledge of the work. In the 
year 1806, an edition in two volumes, corrected and 
improved by the author, was published in Edinburgh | 
and contained several pieces not in the former. This, 
wit!i several other pieces written since, has been re- 
ceived, and make up the contents of the present edi- 
tion, with a new arrangement. And as great care 
has been taken to correct former othographlcal and 
typographical errors, the publisher trusts the present 
will be found the most complete edition hitherto offer- 
ed to the public. 

From the Notes accompanying the several pieces, 
a sliort sketch of the author's by-past life, may be 
A % 



VI 

drawn. We find him writing iu different parts ot 
the world widely distant from eacli other, but still, 
retaining an enthusiastic fondness for the beautiful 
scenery of his native plains, (a true characteristic of 
all virtuous minds.) His singular talent of introduc- 
ing us to the family and setting us down by the fire- 
side, is worthy of admiration. As his general de- 
sign seems to be the correction of error and vice, 
and the encouragement of virtue, his satire though 
pointed is not stinging; his description is beautiful, 
simple, and affecting. Lord Byron in his English 
Bards and Scotch Reviewers, has the following lines 
and note, 

*•" Yet still some genuine sons 'tis her's to boasf. 
Who least affecting", still affect the most; 
Feel as they write, and write but as they feel, 
Bear witness Gifford, Sotheby, MacneilL* 

His historical tale, The Scottisli Adventurers, wJis 
published in Edinburgh; the dedication w'as dated in 
Feb. 1812, and as we have heard nothing to the con- 
trary, we may hope that he is still in being, although 
an old man. It has been generally remarked that 
the lives of poets burnish but few materials for the 
biographer, but as tliat of our autl»or has been ac- 
tive, and his travels extensive, we may reasonably 
expect that his narrative will be an exception to the 
general rule. 

* Macneiil, whose poems are deservedly popular: particularly 
"« Scotland's Scaith,or the Waes ofWar/' of which ten thousand 
CQpi^s w?r? sold in one month. 



ADVERTISEMENT 



THE SECOND EDITION. 



IN this edition there will be found some pieces 
which are not in the author's former collection ; to- 
gether with some alterations and amendments, which, 
in justice to himself, and as a mark of attention to an 
indulgent public, he considered necessary in the final 
correction of his poetical works. 

It may perhaps be proper to notice, that the pieces 
now added, are. Verses on Dr. Doig; the Pleasures 
of Ambition | Jack and Nancy ; the Rose o' Kirtle, 
and some additional Scots Songs. The Poems are 
likewise now arranged nearly in the order in which 
they were originally written ^ which not only forms 
a separate collection of all tlie Scotch and English 
compositions, but enables tlie reader to turn readily 
to the volumes in which all the pieces wa^itten in these 
respective languages are inserted. 

Ellin. 20th Dec. 1805» 



ADVERTISEMENT 



THE FIRST EDITION. 



SOME of the poems in the following collection, 
the public have already seen, and received with flat- 
tering attention ; others have occasionally appeared 
in different periodical publications in a very incorrect 
state, while many of the songs, set to music, ha7e, 
for a number of years back, been exposed to sale in 
the music shops. As a few of the most popular and 
important pieces have for some time past been out of 
print, and are, it seems, still in request, I have at 
length yielded to the repeated solicitations of the 
Edinburgh boviksellers, and selected all the poetical 
productions I mean to acknowledge, witii the view of 
their being printed in two volumes, which, I am told, 
are shortly to be presented to the public. 

A considerable part of the English pieces inserted 
in the present collection, were written at a time of life 
when imagination too often triumphs over judgment, 
and passion rejects the sober aid of criticism. Apo- 
logy for insignificant productions, written at an early 
period, has nothing to do with this observation, since 
to present fruits that are insipid or ill-favoured, 



X 



merely on account of their immaturity, is surely a 
sorry compliment to the taste of a discerning public. 
On the present occasion, I am apprehensive I have 
been influenced more by a gratification of my own 
taste, than an anxiety to gratify that of others. 
There are certain events in the early stages of life, 
which, on a retrospect, interest and charm perhaps 
beyond any other.— Among these, scenes and cir- 
cumstances annexed to youth and passion, cannot 
fail to be remembered with peculiar pleasure, while 
the occasional and unpremeditated effusions which 
commemorate the joys that are past, and the friends 
that are no more, become, even with their faults, the 
children of our affection. These, however, have been 
examined with some care, and, I would fain hope, 
with some impartiality. Many, with a sigh, have 
been consigned to oblivion ; but, on a general review 
of my poetical offspring, I cannot deny, that, while I 
fancied some puny and unpromising, I was incapable 
of excluding them from the last and only protection I 
had to offer. If, in this parental weakness, I have 
been in fault, it is hoped that the error will be attri- 
buted to no other cause. Tiie cacoethes carpendi can- 
not surely attach to one who has so long resisted so- 
licitations to collect, far less the silly vanity of exhi- 
biting to the world what diffidence has so long taught 
him to conceal. 

Edhu June 1801 



CONTENTS. 



VERSES to H. Macneill, esq. page iS 
The Pastoral, or Lyric Muse of Scotland ^7 
Dornock Ha'. A Ballad - - 55 
Notes to Pastoral, or Lyric Muse of Scotland 65 
The Harp ... 8 
The Pleasures of Ambition 
Donald and Flora. A Ballad 
To J. W. on his birth day 
To Mrs. Pleydell, with a pot of honey 
To Eliza, on her marriage 
To a Young Lady, with a bottle of Irish Usque- 
baugh . ^ . 127 
The Wee Thing. A Ballad - - 135 
The Whip, or, A Touch at the Times - 138 
To Jean and Isabella - - 144 
Grandeur. An Ode - . 149 
May-Day - - - 152 
An Elegy - - - 156 
Epitaph. Sacred to the memory of James Gra- 
ham, esq. - - - 158 
On the Death of David Doig, LL. D. 160 
Prologue - - - - 162 
Jack and Nancy - - - 165 
The Links 0' Forth ^ - 169 



o 
99 
105 
108 
114 
121 



Xll 

Notes to the Links o' Forth - - 189 

Scotland's Scaitli ... 195 

The Waes O' War - - - 215 

To C. L., esq. with a present of a bottle of Ja- j 

maica rum - - - 23^ 

To tlie Members of the Sober Society - 240 

Tlie Rose O' Kirtle. A Ballad - 2i3 

To Robert Graham, esq. of Gartmore - 246 
On the Death of Lieut. Gen. Sir Ralph Aber- 

cromby ... 248 

On Admiral Lord Nelson - - 250 

SONGS. 

Tlie Lammie . , . 261 

I Loo'd Ne'er a Laddie but Ane - Q63 

O Tell me how for to %Yoo - - 2G5 

Tak Tent and be Vfary - - 268 

Mally Aitken - - - 271 

To Get a Man - - - 273 

Lassie Wi* the Gowden Hair - - 270 

Jeanie's Black Ee - - - 278 

The Plaid Amani:^ the Hcthcr - - 281 

Come Undf^r My Fiaidy - - 283 

Valour Shields the Brave - - 286 

The Auld Wife's Lament.— 1804 - 289 

There's Nought I See, to Fear Now - 292 

Johnie ! Can yon Pity Ony - 294 

The Scottish Muse - - - 297 

Notes to do. - - - 515 

Glossary - - - « 521 



The following Verses possess such uncommon merit, and 
are so fine a tribute to the memory of a deceased and 
favourite Scottish Poet, that rather than withhold them 
from the lovers of genuine poetry, the Author thus 
subjects himself to the imputation of vanity in 'pub- 
lishing the elegant, though unmerited compliment 
they contain, 

VERSES 

ADDEESSED TO 

HECTOR MACNEILL, ESQ. 

AUTHOR OF WILL AN' JEAN. 



THE daisy-flower may blaw unseen 
On mountain-tap — -in valley green ! 
The rose alane, in native sheen, 

Its head may raise ! 
Nae musing bardie now, I ween, 

To sing their praise ! 

Nae pensive minstrel wight we see 
Gang sauntering o'er the claver lee ! 
The fireflaughts dartin' frae his ee 

The wilds amang ! 
Wha native freaks wi' native glee 

Sae sweetly sang ! 
B 



14 

His was the gift, wV magic power. 
To catch the thought in happy hour ; 
To busk his verse wi' ilka flower 

O' fancy sweet ! 
An' paint the birk or brushwood bower, 

Whar lovers meet ! 
« 
But now he fills his silent ha ! 
My sweetest minstreFs fled awa ! — 
Yet shall his weel-won laurels blaw 

Through future days, 
•Till weary time in flenders a' 

The warld lays !' 

Such was the dowie plaint o' wae 
Which Scotia made by bank an' brae. 
Whan Burns — (puir Burns !) was ta'en away 

And laid at rest ! — 
(Green grow the grass ! — light lie tlie clay 

Upon his breast ! ) 

But noia she draps the waefu' tale, 
x\ud notes o' transport fill the gale ; 
Nae langer down the silent vale 

She lanely mourns, 
And to her cheek, ance lily pale. 

The rose returns! 



15 

The streaks o' joy glint in her face, 

Thy steps, Maeneill, sweet bard ! to trace ; 

To mark wi' nature^'s peerless grace 

Thy blossoms blaw ! 
Happy to see thee fill the place 

O' him avva ! 

How sairlie does her bosom beat 
At puir misfortune's wretched state ! 
While tracing Will through poortith great 

And prospects drear ! 
And at thy Jeanie's hapless fate 

She draps a tear ! 

Then mark, sweet minstrel o' the day ! 
Thy Scotia's sons an' maidens gay ; 
Her deep wild glens ; her mountains grey, 

Wi' misty head ; 
And eke her ilka sunny brae 

Wi' flow'rs o'erspread! 

What time alane thou may'st retire, 
May these thy fairy thoughts inspire, 
And set tliy manly saul on fire 

In Scotia's praise ; 
And mak thee strike thy native lyre 

To saftest lays1 



16 

To wake the pangs Despair maun dree^ 
Whan driven houseless o'er the lee ; 
To strike the strings o' Sympathie 

Whan griefs combine ; 
To start the tear in Pity's ee — 

The task be thine. 

Edinburgh, 1 RICHARD GALL.* 

Oct. 11, 1799. J 



* Since sending the above to the press, this amiable and inge- 
nious young man has paid his debt to nature. In his death the 
Scottish muse has cause to lament the loss of one of her favourite 
sons. Of this the public will perhaps receive more ample proofs 
soon, the author having been informed that a small collection of 
Mr. Gall*s poetical pieces, accompanied by a short account of his 
life, is intended for publication. 



THE 



PASTORAL, OR LYRIC MUSE 



OP 



SCOTLAND. 



B % 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



FANCIFUL as poetical productions generally 
are, we naturally look for sometiiing more than mere 
imaginary painting when the subject turns on nation- 
al manners or events. It may therefore be necessary, 
thus early to intimate to the critical reader, that if he 
expects to find the following Poem founded on some 
historical fact, or traditionary testimony, he will be 
disappointed. — Nor let him attribute this defect to the 
negligence or stupidity of the author, but to those who 
have most unaccountably deprived him of these valu- 
able sources of information. Had our early annalists 
and succeeding historians, instead of devoting their 
whole attention to intestine feuds, warfare, and hos- 
tilities, bestowed the tenth part of their labours on 
the manners, customs^ and rural occupations of our an- 
cestors, an author would have had little to plead in 
excuse for having reared a poetical fabric without 
some solid foundation, or for having painted national 
scenes and events, founded cliiefly on conjecture and 
analogical deduction. Effectually excluded from all 
information on these interesting subjects by the causes 
just specified, and unfurnished with any materials for 
ascertaining tlie real condition of the Scottish peasan- 
Iry during particular periods in our history, the au- 
thor has availed himself of the only resources left him, 
namely^ the untutored strains of national melody and 



20 

song, or what may not improperly be called the evi- 
dence of national Poetry and Music. 

The scope, tendency, and object, therefore, of the 
following production, are to describe the united in- 
fluence of these sister arts in harmonizing the pas- 
sions, regulating the affections, and suppressing the 
turbulence of an uncivilized and barbarous people. 
By Music and Poetry is not here meant such as are 
usually met with in polished and refined society, but 
that species of simple melody and uncultivated song, 
which, without artificial ornament, or fastidious cor- 
rectness, touch the heart with genuine Nature, and 
awaken the feelings of sympathy, affection, and love. 
In addressing the inhabitants of his native country, 
who have long felt and acknowledged the influence of 
their national music, the author need hardly remark, 
that the particular species here alluded to is the Pas- 
toral AIRS and Lyrical compositions peculiar to the 
southern districts of this part of the kingdom, which 
have uniformly been considered as the Arcadia of 
Scotland. From the effects invariably produced by 
these tender and passionate productions, the author 
was naturally led to think that the progressive im- 
provement of manners and sentiments, in that once 
sanguinary quarter, must have been considerably in» 
debted to their united influence; and although nothing 
has been transmitted to establish the fact, or to autlio- 
rise the conjecture, he is likewise disposed to think, 
from a variety of circumstances inseparably connect- 
ed with the compositions themselves, that a number 
of the most popular of our soutliern songs and melo* 



2i 

ilies were produced in consequence of a material 
change in the situation or condition of the inhabit- 
ants. But, as an explanation and defence of these 
opinions come not witliin the prescribed limits of a 
short address, the author must refer the reader to the 
subjoined Notes at the end of the Poem, a method 
which, to avoid a formal preliminary treatise on our 
Pastoral Music and Poetry, he has preferred. 

It is almost unnecessary to remark, that the fre- 
quent chan|;e of measure in the versification was 
adopted merely to give corresponding effect to the 
different subjects introduced in the Poem. The Spen- 
serian stanza, with all its advantages for harmony 
and sententiousness, is, however, apt to become lan- 
guid in productions of any length; and exclusively of 
the diflSculty annexed to a judicious and musical con- 
struction of this measure in our language, it can never 
prove favourable to Lyrical composition, which re- 
quires one more light and airy to render the subject 
sufficiently interesting. 

Edinburgh, 
1st December, 1808. 



TO MRS. ARCHIBALD FLETCHER. 

My Bear Madam^ 

IT will, no doubt, surprise you much to 
find your name prefixed to a Poem which you 
never saw previous to its publication, and a 
liberty taken of which you had no previous no- 
tice. All I can say in my defence is, that hav» 
ing never dedicated any thing of mine but to 
those whom Friendship and Worth placed 
near my heart, I w^as unwilling to close my 
poetical labours without some public testimony 
of my regard for one whose virtues I have long 
known and admired ; and that, impressed with 
a belief that I should not have obtained per- 
mission to express publicly what sincerity and 
esteem prompted, I was constrained to accom- 
plish by stealth, w liat, I had good reason to 
think, modesty would have prohibited. I 
might, indeed, with equal truth add, that in a 
performance, where the Moral and Social vir- 
tues are particularly inculcated, it was natural 
for an author to look out for a suitable Patron- 
ess, and that, in choosing one as distinguished 
for her literary taste as for those accomplish- 
ments and talents which render the female 



SI 

character truly attractive, I have, in the pre= 
sent instance, been not altogether disinterested. 
— You know my sincerity too well to call this 
flattery. Should you, however, be inclined to 
think it complimentary, I have only to assure 
you, that it comes infinitely short of what all 
those who are sufficiently acquainted with your 
character, and blessed in your society, say of 
you daily. — That you may long remain to dif- 
fuse the sweets of this society, and to bestow 
that unremitting attention which contributes so 
essentially to the relief and comforts of hu 
manity, is the ardent wish of, 

My dear Madam, 

your affectionate friend 

and faithful servant, 

H. MACNEILL. 



THE 

PASTORAL, OR LYRIC MUSE 

or 

SCOTLAND.^ 

CANTO FIRST. 

WHEN shall the woes of War and Discord 
cease ! 

When shall the morn of Harmony arise 1 

When shall the dawn of Concord^ Love, and 
Peace, 

Ereak through the gloom, and light dark Eu« 
rope's skies ! — 

\^ain dream!-— for see! to grasp the blood- 
stained prize, 

Ambition, maddening, wades through seas of 
gore. 

Lists, careless, to the groans and dying sighs 

Of myriads overwhelmed, to rise no more ; 

And none but Brii ons smik, around their pa= 
rent shore ! 

* See Kote A. 
C 



26 

Ob, deaf to nature ! and to bliss unknown ! 
How long sball carnage brutify mankind ? 
Whirled in tempestuous storms, by pride up- 
blown, 
How long sball pbantoms fascinate and blind ? 
Health — comfort — hope; a gay contented mind. 
Are all we here can want, or need to crave ; 
And may not these delight, if friendship twined 
The bonds of love, life's social sweets to save, 
And gild the traveller's path with sunshine to 
the grave ? 

One sportive summer's day is all that's given 
To cheer the transient gleam of insect bliss, 
Warm'd by the genial influence of Heaven, 
They burst to life, and love, and happiness : 
Hoving on raptured wing, no ills oppress ; 
Fruition bounds the circuit of their joy ; — 
Shall Man alone no kindred charms possess? 
Must storm and gloom his summer's day de- 
stroy. 
Nor peace nor social sweets his fleeting hours 
employ ? — 

Ah me ! encompass'd with afflictions (hear ! 
Pain — sickness — sorrow, and disastrous fate ; 
The want of friendship's aid, to sooth and 
cheer, 



%7 

And softening still the murmurs of regret; 
The loss of all we loved, and prized so late, 
Torn from the breast, where hope and trans- 
port smiled ! — 
Are these not ills enow ? — must rage, and hate. 
And strife, and uproar join in discord wild, 
Steel the relentless heart, and spurn affectionKS 
mild ? 

Can nought compose these tumults that repel 
The gentler throbs of nature, and prevent 
The playful current of our joys to swell 
In fond delight, or glide in calm content?— 
Yes ! — Heaven, with all her bounties, kindly 

sent 
To mitigate the pangs of human pain. 
Has given the Muse, with tones mellifluent, 
To cheer, inspire, and charm in varied strain, 
With fancy, virtue, peace, and all her smiling 

train ! 

Lapt in her lays, that cherish and reform. 
And lure i]\Q mind to all that's guiltless l^tir, 
LulPd are the tempests that upheave, and 

storm 
The labouring breast of avarice and care; 
Kktieement's calm is all he longs to share 



28 

Who thrills at nature's glow, and woos her 

charms ; 
Hails her excitements ; paints her beauties 

rare ; 
Thoughtless of want; unruffled with alarms; 
And such the bard, I ween ! whose breast true 

passion warms. 

A time there was : — alas ! how changed ! — how 

gone ! 
When worth and friendship linkM each social 

heart, 
xlwaked by nature's call, in powerful tone 
The numbers flow'd ; free, negligent of art ; 
Warm was the strain ! impetuous to iuipart 
Whatever for love or virtue could inspire 
Affections strong; each Minstrel felt the dart 
Of passion, kindling with poetic fire. 
While Pity struck the chords, and tuned the 

OssiANic lyre. 

But scared by feud, that generates war and 

crime. 
And sweeps the loves and virtues soon away. 
The Muses, trembling, fled their hostile clime, 
And wandering, skulk'd, where power, with 

ruffian sway 



S9 

Overawed the minstrel band.~-Qaick changed 

the lay ; 
Servile and mean, arose a mongrel crew ; 
And, as they sung of spoil and midnight fray^ 
Waked the discordant tones, untuned, untrue, 
Which Nature never own'd, nor Pity ever 

drew !'* 

Stung with the sounds, oppressed with grief 

and pain. 
Sad, o^er the wild, a sister mourner fled; 
Her robe, neglected, swept the desert plain, 
The bleak wind whistling round her laurelFd 

head ; 
Fast down her faded check, late rosy red^ 
The tide of silent sorrow trickling fell ! — 
Ask you the mourner's name ? — 'twas Music^ 

led 
By wilderM grief, her plaintive notes to swell 
Safe where the Muses sung, within their sheU 

ter'ed dell. 

Near to the choral band, embower\l and hid 
From rapine, hate, and feud's relentless ire | 
Low in a grassy vale, where, tame, the kid 
And lambkin dancing play'd, a ruin'd sire 

• See IS'ote B. 



30 

Secluded lived. Escaped fioin whelming fire 
At midnight's murdering hour, swift, through 

the roar 
Of wintry storms, he fled from horrors dire, 
And with an infant — saved of all his store ! 
To Yarrow's sylran banks the blooming trea- 
sure bore. 

Here, lonely screened, affection urged to save 

The helpless life dependent on his aid ; 

His sheltering roof, the banks deep echoing 

cave ; 
His food, the wild fruits glean'd around the 

glade ! — 
Heaven, favouring, smiled. A lamb, that v/il- 

der'd stray- d 
Within the grot, th' experienced sire retained, 
liured by its bleating cries, fond, undismayed, 
The dam swift followM, answ ering as it plain'd, 
And with her milky store two helpless lives 

sustained. 

Thus nightly lur'd, the wintry season past; 
Heturning spring increased the fleecy fold ; 
Contentment soothM, and deadeu'd woes at 

last, 
While years untroubled came, and passing 

roUM ; 



31 

The stripling grew ; the sire, though frail and 

old, 
Beheld^ with cheering hope, his shepherd boy 
Secured from want. Each eve the warrior told 
The tales of former happiness and joy, 
And all the woes of feud, that ruin and destroy I 

And oft, to cheat and cheer the lingering hour, 
The hoary sage would wake the legend strain; 
llecount the marvellous deeds of martial power, 
And paint the tumult of th' embattled plain ; 
Yet, while he sung the carnage of the slain, 
la sorrow's tone, soft pity's sighs he drew ; 
And checking rising fervour, shew'd how vain 
The pride of conquest, slaughtering to subdue ! 
Compared with virtue's charms, unchanging — 
ever new. 

And oft, I ween ! to warm impassion'd youth 
With all that's courteous, generous, just, and 

brave. 
Instructive age would blend with moral truth 
Romantic feats, when dauntless Knighthood 

gave 
Its bright example to reform ; and save 
Unsheltered virtue from oppression's power ; 
Chastised dishonour; freed the injured slave 
Of tyrant thrall ; attacked the dragon-bower ; 



B2 

Broke beauty's captive spell; and storiu\l tli' 
enchanted tower. 

Toiich'd with the subject of the evening's lay, 
The stripling caught the sorrows that were sung? 
And wandering, lonely, with his flock by day, 
Conn'd the sad tales, o'er which he nightly 

hung ; 
And much he wish'd (unpractised yet and 

young) 
In suited strains, emotions to unfold, 
When froQi the neighboring dell, sweet warb- 
ling rung 
The Muses' varied notes — now soft, now bold, 
And to his ravish'd ear th' important secret told. 

^Twas then arose, united, and refined. 
The witching strains of Melody and Song I 
True to each note the charms of verse com- 
bined 
The power of thought, impassion'd — moral — 

strong; 
Through wood and vale, re-echoed sweet among 
The haunts of quiet, soft the warbling rose: — 
Flocks listening gaze ; arrested oft, and long, 
The bounding roe-buck and his woodland does 
Turn captived by the sound harmonious as it 
flows ! 



33 

ThrilPd with the charm! — enchanted with the 

art ! 
The fond enthusiast, listening to the choir, 
Felt the warm flash of genius shoot athwart 
His ardent brain, and caught th' electric fire ; 
And as he listening heard the changing lyre, 
Sweet as the Muses sung the Pastoral lay, 
Now melting soft to passion's warm desire 5 
Now lightly brisk to rural joys and play. 
Whole nights and summer days past unper- 

ceived away ! 

They sung of love, and lover's pains,* 

Their joys, and softened sorrow ; 
They sung contentment's rural strains 

Around the " Braes o' Yarrow ;'' 
On " Etterick banks" was heard the reed 

That piped to pastoral leisure, 
And echoing sweet round winding Tweed 

Was heard the varying measure ; 

And Teviotdale returned the sound 
W^ith all its groves embowering, 

And " Galla water's" green hills crown'd 
With whins and wild thyme flowering, 

* The Pastoral Songs, 



3:1 

Blithe were the strains by '^ Cowdeii knows- ' 

And '' Leader's haughs" and river ! 
But sad ! where Jed's stream murm'ring flow^ 

The blythe notes echoed never!* 
For war with blood stained Jed's sweet shore 

When love oft wail'd her marrow, 
And wafted mid the tempest's roar 

The sound was heard at Yarrow. 

Bad o'er the lone vales as it swept, 
And thrill'd the heart with anguish, 

The Muses changed the lyre, and wept ;t 
Love's notes were heard to languish ; 

The rural pipe neglected lay ! 

No sound was heard by night or day 
But melting ^^ dule and sorrow !" 

Beside some bank or willow'd stream 

Soft Pity tuned the mournful theme. 

And starting, saw in frightful dream 
Some lover drown'd in Yarrow ! 

But had you seen the Shepherd boyf 
When Song and Music fired his breast, 

Tune the loved instruments with joy 
That by the Muses' skill expressed 
The varied Passions that confess'd 

• See Note C. f The Ballad Strains, 

+ See Note D. 



35 

The power of Nature's artless sway 5 
You would have sworn the ruin'd mind 
To reason lost — wild- — unconfined 

Had wing'd its maniac way ! 

Oh ! had you seen him as he strayed, 

Rapt, through the greenwood's lonely shad% 

When silence reignM at even^ 
And heard him pour his varied song 
Descriptive — moral — melting — strong! 

Inspired by favouring Heaven, 
You would have haiFd him as he stood 
Entranced in fond poetic mood^ 

The genius of the grove ; 
And thought you heard by bank and spring 
Responsive sweet ! the wood-nymphs sin^ 

Of rural peace and love ! — 



•5 



The Muses markt, and raptured smiled, 
And as they claspfc loved Nature's child 

Delighted to their breast, 
In tears of joy they blest the morn 
On which a Shepherd hard was born 

To charm rude minds to rest. 
'' And take," they cried, '^ the pastoral reed 

That pipes to peace and pleasure, 
And sing while flocks round Yarrow feed 

The sweets of rural leisure : 



Yet midst the charms that song bestows 

Think of the child of sorrow, 
Who whelm'd to-night with warfare's woes^ 

Weeps o'er her lot to-morrow ! 

Attune the lyre ! but let it sound 
To every answering dale around 

The melody of woe ! 
For melody and song assail 
The frozen heart, when miseries fail 

To melt th' infuriate foe : 
Sad let it ring ! to JV'ature free ! 
Unmarr'd by art-trick'd minstrelsy ; 
For art and nature ill agree 

When passion bursting speaks ; 
While left alone to play her part. 
Deep -melting sorrow Avrings the heart, 

And oft the heart too, breaks ! 

But when Pleasure's w^arm sensation 

Prompts the mirth-inspiring strain. 
Snatch fond Youth ! the blest occasion 

To light transport up again ! 
Pleasure's joys may flie to-morrow. 

Hail them while they kindling move ! 
Life was ne'er foredoom'd to sorrow 

Cheer'd with melody and love I 



37 

Ever chaiiging — ever fleeting, 

Life is but an April day. 
Smiling — frowning — tempting — cheating! 

Hail its sun-beams while they play. 

Song and melody can lighten 

Loads that bend the drooping soul. 
Gild the gloom of fate, and brighten 

Regions darkling round the pole 5 
Cheering with their warm intrusion 

Iceland shivering feels the glow? 
Lapland, yielding to illusion 

Smiles amid eternal snow :* 



Nor freezing blasts from Alpine height 

Can chill the fervent pleasure ; 
Nor climes where softer charms invite, 

Obliterate the measure : 
Wherever he roams, bold, calm, or gay, 
Re-wake the strain which youth's blithe day 

Heard round Helvetia's steeps, 
Tho' nursed in war — to valour bred, 
The soldier gone ! — fame— glory fled, 

Thinks of his home, and weeps if 

* See Icelandic and Lapland Poetry. 

-] " There is a dance in Switzerland which the young" shep= 
herds perform to a tune pKyed on a sort of bag-pipe. The tune 
is called Ranee dcs Vaches; it is wild and irregular, but has no- 

D 



as 

O patriot passion ! close intwin'd 

With friendship warm, and love refined^ 

Resistless is thy power ! 
Let wealth with grandeur gild his lot, 
The wanderer still sighs for his cot, 

His hill and native hovver ! 
And while he sighs, and frequent turns 
With ardent mind, and hreast that hums, 

To scenes no longer near ! 
Each simple air his mother sung, 
Placed on her knee when helpless young, 

Still vibrates on his ear I 

Strike then the lyre, and raise the song 
Attuned to joy or sorrow ; 



thing In Its composition that could recommend it to our notice 
But the Swiss are so intoxicated with this tune, that if at any 
time they hear it when abroad in foreign service, they burst into 
tears; and often fall sick, and even die, of a passionate desire to 
revisit their native country; for which reason, in some armies | 
where they serve, the playing of this tune is prohibited. This 
tune having been the attendant of their childhood and early 
youth, recals to their memory those regions of wild beauty and 
rude magnificence; those days of liberty and peace; those nights 
of festivity; those happy assemblies; those tender passions^ 
which formerly endeared to them their countiy, their homes, and 
their employments; and which, when compared with the scenes 
of uproar tliey are now engaged in, and the servitude they now 
undergo, awaken such regret as entirely overpowers them." 
Beattie on Poetry and Music. 



39 

Oil ! pour it melting sweet along 

The answering banks of Yarrow^ ! 
Till sliepherds listening, catch the straia 

As flocks are careless roaming, 
And milk-maids lilt it soft again 

. At ewe-bnghts in the gloaming ; 
Till love and friendship on the wing 

Waft concord to disorder, 
And teach e'en Rapine^ s hordes to sing 

^'Prace to thk troubled Border!'^ 



SND OF r VNTO THE rircST, 



CANTO SECONDe 



BLEST by the song! (a bard^ though humble, 

cries), 
That moves by Pity's power th' infuriate 

breast 5 
Lures Mercy beaming from her native skies 
To soften rage^ and shelter the oppress^ ; 
And guide to Peace, where Concord, warm 

earess'd 
By friendship, tunes in harmony the string 
To love and pastime, innocence and rest, 
As shepherds pipe, and rural poets sing 
Till cliffs reverberate round, and answering 

vallies ring ! 

^•' Smit with the love of song,'' by bank and 

stream 
The Stripling framed the subject of the lay. 
And while the loves and virtues warm'd his 

theme. 
Nor care nor sorrow cross'd his flowery way ; 
But, when the clang of carnage and affray 
AssaiPd his ear, his throbbing heart would 

swell y 



I 



41 



For^ reft of all by rapine^s savage sway, 
The houseless wanderer fled from murder's 

yell, 
And shivering roam'd the wild, or weeping 

skulkM the dell ! 

Ah ! what could he^ who burn'd to yield relief 
Witliout the power to .succour, or to save? 
But tune the lyre to sympathy and grief, 
And sing the virtues of the falPn and brave I 
But weave the partial theme, where pity gave 
UnblemishM valour to the warrior slain ; 
Or, strew with flowers of pi'aise the lover's 

grave, 
Unbless'd with hallow'd dust, or funeral train, 
And chant each mournful dirge in sorrow^^s 

doleful strain ! 

Lured by the sounds, sad floating on the gale, 
Accordant to tlie breast of plaintive woe. 
The neighboring shepherds sought the tuneful 

vale, 
And melting heard compassion's numbers flow ; 
And as they felt the charm, and wept the blow 
Of adverse fate, they loved the lay that shed 
Th' embalming dew of praise on those laid 

low ; 
For sorrow loves to hear the favourite dead 
D 2 



42 

Receive the looked for meed that cheers death^s 
gloomy bed ! 

Listening they caught the melody of song, 
While memory held the moral of the lay; 
And circling wide the pastoral haunts among, 
Love nightly heard what passion framed by 

day: 
For as each songster, save from war's dismay 
^^ secret bank and streamlet mused alone, 
Flowing the numbers came \ — ^now sad — now 

§ay, 
As warm emotions burst in varied tone 
To love's enchanting joys, or grief's lamenting 

moan. 

Spreading, at length they reached the banner'd 

hall 
Of plundering chief, and haughty baron bold, 
Bead'ning the pangs of guilt in festive brawl 
As round in savage mirth intemperance roU'd ; 
More savage still, the minstrel strains extoll'd 
The crimes of midnight deeds and horrors fell ! 
When thrilling warm through breasts insensate 

cold. 
The moral Muse transfused her magic spell. 
Waked the lost mind to thought, and struck 

the Pastgkal shell ! 



4b3 

Sweet is the charm I when round the social 

board 
Pure friendship weaves the myrtle with the 

vine ; 
But sweeter still, when o'er each trembling 

chord 
Soft Symp.\thy awaked by strains divine 
Steals kindling warm ; created to refine, 
And light th' expanding soul, released and 

free 
From sordid lusts, and selfish cares that twine 
Around th' unfeeling heart, shut out — ah me! 
From ev'ry sound of woe, love, mirth, or me- 

lody ! 

Beep rung the lyre t for dismal was the tale 
That chronicled the ills of feudal waste ! 
Wild rose the strain 1 but soft as summer's 

gale 
Came Pity wafted to the conscious breast ; 
And while the theme with artless truth im- 
pressed 
The wants and woes that spring from war- 
fare's spoil, 
It pointed cheering to the path, where blest 
With annual plenty, Industry and Toil 
Smile round their cultured lawns, and rich re- 
warding soil. 



4i 

It sung of joys — unknown to carnage dread ! 
Of charms^ that soothing, gild life's frequent 

gloom 5 
Content, mild beaming round the peasant's 

shed, 
Comforts that cheer, and prospects that illume; 
Labour unfretful, yielding to the doom 
That mingles worldly ill with heavenly good ; 
Till resignation, smiling to the tomb, 
Sheds mellow'd lustre o'er vicissitude 
Soft as mild Cynthia's rays o'er upland, lake, 

and wood ! 

It sung of war; — but war unstain'd with crime! 
It sung of strife; — but strife with glory crown'd; 
Of spoils — but spoils obtained by feats sublime, 
Slavery overwhelmed — her captured leaders 

bound ; 
Banners, high waved to victory's gladd'ning 

sound 
Triumphant swell'd to liberty and pride, 
As from th' insanguined field, and corse-strew'd 

ground 
(Changing to blood famed Bannockburn! thy 

tide) 
Strode Scotia's patriot sons ; — with freedom 

by their side. 



45 

But mournful was the strain, and wailing wild 
The sound of Scotia's loss, and Scotia's woe ! 
When lifeless strew'd, unhonour'd and defiled^ 
On Flowden's field she saw her warriors low. 
Her " forest flowers'' no more in vernal blow ! 
Dazzling the raptured eye as bright they shed 
Their radiance round, to warm with martial 

glow 
Each patriot breast ; while waving o'er their 

head 
High tower'd the monarch oak in regal gran« 

deur spread. 

Yet, while in sorrow's towe the numbers rolPd; 
Plaining and wild to faithless Fortune's frown, 
Prophetic struck, the Scottish Muse foretold 
Succeeding days of glory and renown, 
When link' tl in C7nzon, laurell'd wreaths should 

crown 
Her valiant sons, and minstrels of the dale, 
And future bards in powerful accents drown 
Desponding murmurs, and lamenting wail, 
And weave on Floddeu-Field a Marmion's 

pictured tale. 

Tlapt in successive visions as they rose, 

She sung of deeds conceal'd from mortal eye, 

Of heroes, doom'd oppression to oppose, 



46 

Bounding o'er waves, to conquer or to die ! 
^^On Egypt's shore/' she cried, " shall valour^ 

high 
Upborne by freedom, guard what freemen prize^. 
With phalanx firm, and dauntless look defy 
Outnumber^ legions, and inclement skies, 
Till awed on Maida's plain proud Gallia 

shrinks and — flies. 

^^A time will come, when roused by treache- 
ry's guile, 
An injured land, determined to be free, 
Shall turn for aid to Britain's guardian isle, 
The foster home of long-nursed Liberty ! 
Swift at the call, Iberia arm'd, shall see 
Congenial bands, by valour waved o'er^ 
Kush onward as the shout of victory 
Hings from Vimeira's heights to Tagus' shore^ 
While distant vales repeat— Braganza reigns 
once more ! 

^' Fame to the brave ! (slie sung in ardent 

tone ! ) 
Who for their country's safety nobly fall ; 
Revered tho' lost ; ^graved on no mouldering 

stone. 

Their names still live ! adored and loved by 
all: 



*7 

Unwarp'd by interest, deaf to party brawl^ 
Aroused by danger, warm'd by valour's flame^ 
Pure honour glowing, lists but to the call 
Of duty^s sacred, never-ceasing claim. 
Till virtue rears the tomb, and 'graves — a Pa- 
triot's name ! 

^» And fame," she cried, ^^ shall sound her cla» 

rion long 
For those, who warm'd by truth, the lyre shall 

string 
To peace and concord, wove in deathless song, 
As love and friendship sail on downy wing: — 
And such shall come! — I see by bank and 

spring 
Deckt in their rosy wreaths, the tuneful train ! 
My Ednam bard,* by Nature woo'd to sing 
Her unmark'd beauties in unrivall'd strain; 
My moral minstrel bold ; f my heav'ii-tauglit 

rustic swain ! J 

*'And thee! my pastoral warbler, § in whose 

lays 
My airs, revived, shall ring round burn and 

knowe, 
Blithe as the "Gentle Shepherd" piping strays 

* Tuo:Mso>-, f Beattie. 

^ DuHivs. § Ham SAT. 



48 

O'er PeliilaDd's height^ or sings in ^' Habbie's 

How f 
But chief my songstress!* on whose modest 

brow 
I see the tragic muse the ehaplet bind^ 
Fresh as when culPd from Avon's mulberry 

bough 
And meads bright varied as her Shakespeare's 

mind, 
Th' unfading wreath she wove, and round his 

temples twined!" 

More had she sung ;— but mindful of the lot 
Of raeasurVl life, she droopt, and heaved a sigh^ 
Condemned her pride, and turning to each spot 
Wliere mute one day each tuneful bard would 

lie 
Her sorrows flow'd !— yet while they dimm'd 

her eye, 
Re-cheer'd she saw, bright thro' the gathering 

gloom, 
A favourite's blossom'd grave in vernal dye, 
Where new-blown roses, fresh in annual bloom, 
Bedeck'd the wintry turf that wrapt her aged 

HoME.f 

♦ Joanna Baillie. 

j- John Home, the celebrated author of t)ouglas, who seems to 
have dropt in the grave unnoticed und forg-ot ! 



49 

ToucliM with her praise, and emulous of fame,' 
(Dear to the heart that owns poetic charms !) 
The Shepherds listening, felt amhition's flame, 
Guiltless of aught that fires to slaughtering 

arms : 
Peace lent the glow; — oppress'd with wild 

alarms, 
And stung with crimes that rent the mourner's 

breast. 
Each strove to light the genial flame that 

warms 
To social joy, when love smiles w^ar to rest^ 
Unbinds the scaring helm, and hides the bloods 

dyed crest. 

And first, to wake Compassion, dead 

In breasts long torn asunder 
With ranc'rous hate, and carnage dread 

Mid uproar, rage, and plunder, 
They tuned the chord to misery's moan, 
A wild, disorder^!, melting tone 1 

Which grief alone can swell, 
And joining numbers, sadly true, 
In artless strains described, what few 

SkilPd bards can paint so well. 

Urged by the Muse, who never speaks 
To feeling breasts in vain, 
E 



50 

The shepherds touched the string that wakes 

To Penitence and Fain ; 
And as the Ballad lay they sung, 
And o'er the lyre impressive hung 

With sighs responsive deep ; 
Kach mournful tale resistless drew 
The drops of Pity's heavenly dew 

From eyes unused to weep !— 

Wild rose the Passions free 

Bursting in sorrow ! 
Sad was each melody 

Wafted round Yarrow ! 
Deep, deep ! the tragic lay 
Fram'd to feud's deadly fray, 
Pouring Love's welladay ! 

O'er murder'd marrow ! 

Changed are the notes of cheerless woe, 

The strains of sorrow cease ; 
A softer theme is heard to flow, 

The heav'n- tuned song of Peace ! 
When Pity moves the rutliless breast, 
Like Love's star glittering in tlie west 

Peace gilds tiie lurid gloom, 
A rosy dawn succeeds the night, 
A cheering sun beams radiant bright. 

All nature breathes perfume ! 



51 

O Thou ! with olive garland cro\vn'd^ 

Meek shelt'rer of despair ! 
Sweet SyxMpathy ! with robe unbound 

And throbbing bosom bare ! 
How oft, when fury lights the eye, 
And dark revenge broods threatening nigh^ 

Thy angel form appears 
Gliding amid the dismal gloom, 
To lull the storm, and soft illume 

With sufi-beams glanced thro^ tears ! 
Then springs the soul to raptures new, 
Unfelt by murder's slaughtering creW; 

Till touched with pity's smart. 
Mild Mercy then resumes her tone, 
And Friendship smiling on his throne^ 

Clasps Concord to his heart ! 

For touch the soul with soft delight 

Tiiat flows from guiltless pleasure, 
Swift, khidred charms with smiles invite 

To Love and social leisure ; 
Compared with strife, new pictures rise 
To strike, astonish, and entice 

From crimes, that blackening scare ! 
Till shudd'ring at each horror past, 
The ruffian turns to Heaven at last 

With penitence and pray'r. 



52 

Nor ceas'd tlie band, till spriglitly sweet ! 

The Pastoral strains arose 
la cadence brisk, and numbers meet,* 

Care's murmurs to compose ; 
Each songster warbling, triilM the wires 
That rung to Pleasure's cimste desires 

By streamlet, bank, and grove, 
And echoing round the cheerless dome 
Of gloomy Discord's hostile home 

Breath'd Harmony and Loye ! 

From southern Cheviot's war-stain'd hills 
To broom-ilower'd Pentland's heights and rills, 

No other tales were told 
But milk-maids lilting at their pail. 
And shepherds piping in tiie dale, 

Or wooing at the fold : 
Sweet were the sounds by stream and glade 
As pastimes echoed in the shade 

While flocks and herds wxre roaming ! 
But sweeter still, the trysted hour 
When lovers met in secret bower 

Or ewe-bughts in the gloaming ! 

But when they sung how love beguiled 
Each dark, ungentle passion ; 

* See Note E. 



5S 

How Nature woo'd, and sigh'd, and smilM^ 

And jeer'd in am'rous fashion ; 
A warmer strain was heard to ring 
From every sweet accordant string 

To harmonize disorder, 
Till far and near the swelling sound 
Was heard the answering hills around, 

"Peace to the troubled Border l'^ 

Moved with the shepherds^ artless lays, 

War sraoothVl his rugged feature ; 
A softening murmur whisper'd praise, 

Waked by the strains of nature ; 
The youthful warrior felt love's flame. 
The plunderer, blushing deep with shame, 

Fprgot his purpose dire ; 
And deeper still, the Minstrel crew 
Blush'd, conscience struck !— in haste withdrew^ 

And dropt the Border Lyre. 

The songsters smiling, raptured saw 
The power of nature's sovereign law, 

And blest the pastoral strain ; 
And as they swept with wRUng hand 
The sounding chords, around the land 

The Virtues bloom'd again ; 

E 2 



54 



And as tliey bloom'd, they odours shed 
Rich o'er the wild, where Mercy led 

Her train to social rest, 
And Peace, long doom'd by strife to roam^ 
CalPd love and friendship to her home, 

And nursed them at her breast. 

Among the band that softened rage, 
Was one, whose skill and reverend aeie 

Attracted notice due; 
JFor as he struck his Doric lyre, 
His sparkling eye shot youthful fire, 

As rapt, his numbers flew : 
Prepared to sound a warning call 
At once to soften and appal 

The turbulence of feud. 
He tuned his voice to sorrow^s wail, 
And bending to his mounful tale,^ 

Thus sung in pensive mood. 



SND OF CANTO THE SECOJJD. 



DORNOCK HA^ 



A BALLAD. 



CANTO THIRD, 



THE night l)lew cauld thro' snaw and sleety 
Loud rair'd the blast wi' deafening din ; 

A voice cam' sad, yet mournfu' sweet ; 
" Unbar the door^ and let me in ! 

On feckless eild, wi' waes down borne^ 
Bereft o' hame^ friends, kith or kin. 

Some pity tak' ! — till cheering morn 
Unbar the door ! — Oh let me in !'' 

To feckless eild^ or sorrow^s mane 
My door was aye nnbarr'd and free^ 

Come in anld man ! — tho' left alane, 
The friends o' pity here ye'll see : 

Come in auld man ! our house, tho' sma'y 
Has aye a nook for want and wae ; 

There's shelter here frae wind and snaw^ 
And kindness too^ for night and day. 



56 

We led him to our cozie nook ; 

His cheek was wan — his strength was gane ! 
My Grizzie cast saft pity's look, 

As frae her heart burst sorrow's inane ; 

She brought the best things frae her hoard, 
The bicker ream'd wi' nappy brown, 

And smiles o' kindness round the board 
Made welcome's feast gang sweeter down. 

Cheer'd wi' my Grizzie's kindly treat. 
The carle's heart began to glow ; 

Our wee-things crap around his seat, 
Our ingle bleez'd a canty low ; 

Aft times he sigh'd, and sometimes smiVd, 
Then shook his head as white as snaw ; 

And aft a thought his peace beguiVd, 
Whan down a tear wad trickling fa' ! 

'^Blissfu' the lot!" at length he cries, 
*^ When kindred virtues mingle round; 

Unbind the cords that misery ties, 

And pour their balm in sorrow's wound ! — 

Twas sae alas ! when plenty shed 
Her heart'ning joys within my ha'; 



57 

Ilk slrave to mak' tiie mourner glad, 
And dry the tears that grief let fa' ! 

Tlie cauldest night snell winter blaws 
Could warm the freezing lieart o' care ^ 

Skreen'd safe within my sheltering wa's, 
Smiles brightening brak' through mirk de 
spair ; 

The feast, the sang, the tale gae'd round 
To cheat the pang that sorrow gae, 

And aye wi' cheering, saftening sound 
I waked to mirth the minstrel lay!^' 

What brak the joys that plenty shed ? — - 
What banishM safety frae your ha'? 

Was't jjoortith^ aye in sorrow clad, 
That sent ye mourning thro' the snaw ? 

"It was na poortitli wrought the change; 

It was na want owrturn'd my ha' ; 
^Twas deadly feud, and black revenge 

Sent frail fourscore thro' blast and snaw ! 

Ae fearfu' night — (oh ! night of fate !) 
Loud beat the storm wi' thund'ring thud. 

The waters raise, and in a spate 

Updash'd in foam the neighb'ring flood ; 



58 



A cry o' horror through the blast 

HeachM where my family quak'd wP fear ; 
Starting I raise in wilder'd haste^ 

And frae the wa' upsnatch'd my spear ; 

^^ Oh gang na forth ! my Marian cried, 
As fast slie held me to her breast, 

The rain has swelPd the raging tide — 
Oh gang na forth V' she sigh'd and prest. 

^^ A horseman rides the roaring flood 
Loud cried our warden frae the tower, 

He's miss'd the ford at Dornock wood, 
Nor horse, nor man, will reach the shore !/' 

Fearless I flew whar danger led. 
The horse was gane ; the rider seen 

Struggling for life in death's deep bed. 
Dashed round in Kirtle's whirling linn !— 

Oh ! had the life that then remained 
Sunk in the flood I desperate braved. 

What ills and waes that since hae pain'd 
This bleeding heart had then been saved ! 

Senseless and pale we bare him hame ; 
My Helen fair, prepared his bed ! 



59 

We waked ere lang life's sniotherM flame 5 
My Marian kind^ band up his head ! 

Three weeks we cherish'd in our ha' 
This fause EarVs son o' high degree^ 

The fourth^ the traitor std awa' 
A treasure rich, and dear to me ! 

The lily pure that decks the vale 

Fresh gilt wi' morning' beams and dew, 

The rose that blushing scents the gale, 

Wi' Helen matched would tyne their hue ! — ^ 

Ah me! e'en now, cheer'd in this nook, 

Wi' thae sweet young things round my chair, 

Methinks I see her artless look ; — 

Sae ance she smiled wha--smiles nae mair! 

^O waefu' mourner ! ---yet disclose 
What cam o' Helen stown aw a'?' 

^' Our Warder brought the tale o' woes 
Loud echoing thro' my sorrowing lia'--- 

Bowne !--bowne !--4o horse ! I raging cried, 
To horse ! my gallant friends and true, 

Ere night I guess, if swift we ride. 
The traitor thief the deed shall rue ! 



60 

Lang, lang I sought my darling child ^ 
(The gem was hid in secret bowers.) 

At length 'mang glens, and forests Avild, 
We spied the raver's castled towers :" 

^ I come to warn ye o' your fate, 
Outspak a herald loud and bauld, 

^ Nae careless watclmien guard yon gate, 
Nae worn-out warriors frail and auld ; 

Full fifty spearmen, stoops o' weir, 

Guard round ; — their leader bad me say, 

Come to your Helen kind and fair, 
The bridal feast shall crown the day.' 

^•'Gae, tell your fause and taunting lord 
To keep his feasts for them wha crave !— 

I cam na here to grace his board, 
His life, or her he's stown I'll have ! 

His fifty warriors let him guide, 
Wi' thirty leil I'll meet him here; 

Justice and heaven are on our side, 
The base alane hae cause to fear ! 

The buglers rang thro' glen and w ood 5 
Our spearmen fought wi' might and main ^ 



61 

I sought faiise Guy — he fell in blood ;— 
My faithfu', valiant friends war slain I 

My Grizzie's colour fled, and came, 
Her heaving sighs fast rise, and fa' ; 

^ Speak ! is na Gregory your name, 
The Baron ance o' Dornock Ha ? 

^•' What boots it what I ance possest ! 

My name, my lineage wherefore tell !— = 
They've lang laid buried in this breast, 

In flames o' fire my family fell ! — 

Oh barbarous deed ! to smother life 
Guiltless o' harm — to virtue truel — 

Inhuman fiends ! I brunt nae icife. 
Nor blooming babes that round ye grew ; 



I cam na at the dead o' night 

Wi' fire to flame your ancient ha^, 

Drive frailty's eild to winter's blight, 
And send it mourning thro' the snaw !• 



What boots it what I ance possest ! 

My birth I've lang conceal'd in shame; 
i wand'rer houseless, and distress'd, 

Could ill bruik BornocJc^s baron'd name !'* 
F 



62 

His streaming griefs my Grizzie sees, 
She sprang like lightning frae her seat, 

Cried, while she claspt the mourner's knees, 
' Your Helen's daughter's at your feet ?' 

^^My Helen's daughter P^ skreech'd he wild, 
As sair wi' warring thoughts he strave ; — 

"^•'Rise — rise! nor mock my helpless eild; — 
My Helen's lang syne in her grave !" 

^Lang, lang I ken ! — and weel I might ! 

Her death has lang been mournM by me ; 
But maist o' what ye've tauld this night 

I've heard upon my mither's knee ; 

Aft, aft in sorrow's waefu' mood 

When winter's nights blew drifts o' snaw, 
She'd tell of Gmfs red field o' blood. 

And a' the waes o' Hornock Ha' ! 

And aft (when driven frae house and hame 
By Guy's rough sire, wha nought could move.) 

She'd talk o' Gregory's ancient fame, 
And weep his death in tears o' love ! 

Till worn wi' grief and mirk despair 
She died ! and left her child forlorn, 



63 

Till Kenneth^s love, and tender care 
Dried up the tears that now return : — 

But blest the night that blew the blast 
And sent ye wandering thro' the snaw 

To find a kindred hanie at last 
To cheat the waes o' Dornock Ha' !' 



^Twas thus, I ween ! in times of old 
The Lyric Muse impassioned told 

In simple, varied strain, 
Her melting tales to touch the heart 
With sympathy, and warm impart 

Affliction's woes and pain : 
And as she sung her moving theme 
By broomy bank, and limpid stream, 

The Passions, ever true 
To Pity's tones, resumed their sway, 
Long check'd by war, and feudal fray, 

And strong, and stronger grew ; 



6^ 

And as they swellM, and throbbing beat^ 
Fond from tlieh' rural hid retreat 

The Loves came smiling by, 
And joining Friendship, hand in hand 
Danced raptured round in choral band 

To Peace and Harmony ! 
Each softening virtue claimM a place^ 
Warm Charity with angel face, 

Compassion, heavenly meek ! 
And Modesty, in blushing traits, 
Scarce seen in these new-fashiou'd days 

To deck youth's virgin cheek ! 

Blest be the song ! and blest the lyre ! 
That vrarm the soul with passion's fire, 

Again a poet cries ; 
Lure Peace and Concord, to assuage 
With lenient balm infuriate rage, 

And Mercy from the skies ! 
For till tliey join, by Virtue twined, 
Discord and Warfare crush the raind, 

While Ruin sweeps along ; 
Nor Love, nor Harmony divine 
Bend, wooing from their radiant shrine 

To prompt the poet's song. 



NOTESL 



Note A. p. 25. 

OF the origin, continuance, or decline of the Pas- 
toral State in the southern districts of Scotland, we 
are as ignorant as of the origin of its Poetry and Music, 
That it fiartially existed in various spots during the tur- 
bulence of the feudal times in that quarter, cannot, we 
think, be doubted; but that it attained the importance 
and prevalence which we have good reason to suppose 
must have occurred at some particular period, may cer- 
tainly be questioned. We can hardly conceive, that 
when every freebooter seized on whatever supplied his 
necessities, or gratified his revenge, and when the plun- 
der of herds and flocks was one of the principal objects 
of nightly rapine, the Pastoral State could have been ei- 
ther general or alluring. Without security, it is next to 
impossible that any thing approaching to fdeamre or se- 
renity can influence the mind; for neither the oecasional 
sweets of domestic peace, nor the raptures of love, can 
remain long to illumine the countenances of those who 
are fearfully looking -forward to impending danger. 
Amidst the obscurity that hangs over this interesting 
subject, there are, however, fortunately some gleams gF 
light, which break through it, and enable us, at least, to 
discover faintly, what otherwise we should search for in 
vain. National song has this advantage, that while it 
speaks the language of the times, it describes the man- 
iiers of the people. It is indeed impossible it should do 
F % 



66 

otherwise ; for, as the only source from whence it flows 
is Passion and Emotioriy so must these be awakened by 
the existing circumstances and occurrences which are 
immediately connected with the situation of the inhabi- 
tants. We may, therefore, safely turn to this guiding 
ray when all other lights are extinct ; and on the present 
occasion, it will perhaps be found sufficient to illuminate 
iv'hat otherwise must have remained in total darkness. 

What naturally occurs on considering the present sub- 
ject, is first, the peculiar quality or distinguishing feature 
of our national Poetry and Music : 'idly, Has this poetry 
and music undergo) .e any material change at some p .r- 
tlcular period ? 3dly, What marks and distinguishes this 
change ? And lastly, What were the causes which produ- 
ced it? The confined limits of a note precludes a full in- 
vestigation of what would require a pretty long treat'se 
to be completely illustrated, yet the author will endea- 
vour to communicate, in as few words as possible, wliat 
occurs to him on tliese ditfcreni points. 

The distinguishing qualities of ovr national melodies 
and lyric poetry are Pardon and Simplicity^ which they 
possess in a degree supetior to any other compositions 
with which we are acquainted. With one solitary and 
singular exception, they breathe the genuine effusions of 
the hun^an heart, and appear uniicrmly to flow from the 
pure dictates of nalure. The exception, however, to 
"which we allude, caiinot be passed over in silence, as it 
marks a particular era, which seems to have perverted 
not only the natural feelings of mankind, but the usual 
sentiments and pussicrs of the poet. To those who have 
perused the ingenious Mr. Walter Scott's collection 
of the "Bonier Minstrelsy," it will appear evident, that 
the subject •■ATi(s poetry of these rude tiuies difiersd .as ma- 



67 

terially from what we usually meet with even among sa- 
vage nations, as they did from the compositions that suc- 
ceeded, a considerable time after, in the same quarter. 
It is unnecessary to specify what must be obvious to 
every person who has attended to this singular species 
of poetry ; but as our present object is to point out what 
particularly distinguishes the compositions of this period 
from what followed, it may be just observed, that intes- 
tine feuds and hostilities — tumult and disorder — mid- 
night plunder, murder, and calamity, were the animating 
subjects which furnished these savage songsters with 
materials for their inspired lays! Now, it must be equally 
obvious to every person acquainted w^ith our later com- 
positions, that our pastoral songs present subjects, and 
express sentiments, the very reverse of this. Every 
thing breathes peace, tranquillity, harmony, and love, 
Nothing indicates warfare, tumult, or alarm; on the con- 
trary, every description, sentiment, and passion, incline 
us to conclude that general safety, combined with rural 
happiness and content, were the genuine excitements of 
poetry. How shall we reconcile these contrarieties ? or 
rather, how can we possibly conceive that circumstances 
so opposite in their nature were the effects of the same 
cause, or that they originated from the same source? — ■ 
In other words, how can we bring -ourselves to believe 
that the condition or situation of the inhabitants in that 
particular quarter were the same during the prevalence 
of such opposite strains and sentiments ; or that nafion.l 
song should have held sucli different tones during the 
same period ? Are we not rather warranted to infer, that 
previous to those last mentioned compositions, a material 
change had occurred — '.hat the disorders of fjeuds and 
-animosities had greatly subsided, or entirely ceused~=' 



68 ■■I 

that, relieved from the calamities of intestine warfare^ 
and protected from oppression, the natives of these bor- 
der districts began to taste the sweets of repose, and 
turn their minds to more peaceful and profitable employ- 
ments : and that, in consequence of this happy change, 
and the inhabitants being little experienced in agricul- 
ture, or the mechanical arts, the Pastoral State, in a coun- 
try so particularly adapted to this occupation, became 
snore generally extended, and produced those effusions 
of the Muse so congenial with the feelings and senti- 
ments of the community. 

As an additional support of the above opinion, it may 
be remarked, that the plaintive and pathetic Ballads 
-which paint in such true colours, and touching language, 
the calamitous effects of feuds and dissensions, are evi- 
dent proofs of their being compositions posterior to the 
barbarous era already mentioned. They are indeed so 
different in every respect from those of the Border Min- 
strels, that no doubts can remain that they were the pro- 
duction of a description of men actuated by very opposite 
sentiments and feelings ; nor have we any good reason to 
question, that they belonged to the same class of poets 
(whoever they were) whose pastoral lays breathe every 
thing concordant with nature and humanity. That these 
strains, joined to our tender and passionate melodies, 
should have necessarily produced considerable effects in 
softening the manners, and improving the sentiments of 
the inhabitants, can hardly be doubted, when we reflect 
on the unvarying influence of a similar species of music 
in harmonizing the minds, and regulating the affections 
of barbarous nations. So powerful, indeed, was this in- 
fluence, and so firmly established was the fact, that it was 
not only attended to, but became a particular object with 



69 



those whose enlightened views were anxiously directed 
to the improvement of their country. <' The Greeks (as 
a French author judiciously observes*) were remarkable 
for the importance they attached to music. It was inter- 
woven in their institutions, and even had an influence on 
their laws. The austere Spartans were so attentive to 
music, and considered it as an object of so great import- 
ance, that every innovation was strictly forbidden. They 
had experienced the advantage of harmony in civilizing 
the people, and softening their savage manners; for mu- 
sic and poetry, going hand in handj conduce to that pur^ 
pose." — "The grave and judicious Polybius, (he far- 
ther remarks), takes notice, that music was necessary to 
the Arcadians in particular, for, by the neglect of it, one 
of their cities, Cynsetha, became noted for its ferocity 
and barbarity, of which, till the time of this omission, 
there had been but few examples. Plutarch, after the 
Biost famous philosophers, represents music as an ex" 
cellent means of soothing the passions, and regulating 
the heart and temper; but he speaks of a manly, simple, 
and majestic music, which should be suited to Poetry 
and Dancings both the one and the other being compre- 
hended in the general idea of music." — <' The Romans, 
concludes the same author, left an art to their slaves 
which the Greeks held in such estimation." As the 
present note has already exceeded the usual limits, the 
author will only add the concurring testimony of an ele- 
gant and profound writer, on the influence of national* 
poetry in softening the manners and passions of man- 
kind, for which he is certain the reader will readily for« 
give him. 

* Abb^ MinoT, Elements of Ancient History. 



70 

" It is difficult to say to what a degree, in the earlier 
periods of society, the rude compositions of the Bards 
and the Minstrels may have been instrumental in hu- 
manizing the mind of savage warriors^ and in accelerat- 
ing the growth of cultivated manners. Among the 
Scandinavians and the Celtae, we know that this order of 
men was held in peculiar veneration ; and, accordingly, it 
would appear, from the monuments which remain of 
these nations, that they were distinguished by a delicacy 
in the passion of love, and by a humanity and generosity 
to the vanquished in war, which seldom appear among 
barbarous tribes, and with which it is hardly possible to 
conceive how men in such a state of society could have 
been inspired, but by a separate class of individuals in 
the community, who devoted themselves to the pacific 
profession of poetry, and to the cultivation of that crea- 
tive power of the mind which anticipates the source of 
human affairs, and presents in prophetic vision to the 
poet and the philosopher, the blessings which accon>- 
pany the progress of reason and refinement. 

Stewart's Elements of the Human Mind,'^, 533. 



Note B. p. 29. 

" Which Nature never oivn'dy* Isfc. As it is not un- 
likely that the freedom of this censure will meet with the 
disapprobation of those who, for some time past, have 
been captivated with the novelty of rugged strains, and 
and still more rugged manners, the author thinks it ne- 
cessary to observe, that however averse he may be to 
the com/iositions of the Border Bards, his objections are 



71 

infinitely stronger to the subjects which they celebrate^ 
If the legitimate end and purpose of poetry be to " give" 
pleasure,'* either by delighting the mind with produc- 
tions of fancy, or by exciting the passions with paintings 
that awaken the best feelings of the human heart, can we 
reasonably conceive that representations of the most atro- 
cious scenes, expressed in the most barbarous versifica- 
tion, should a^fford pleasure or gratification to a moral 
and well cultivated mind ? Yet strange as it may seem, 
such productions, with nothing to recommend them but 
their novelty^ are not only relished but admired in the 
19th century, an age of lettered refinement; and by those 
too, who would be not a little offended were they accused 
of a deficiency in moral principle, or a want of poetical 
taste ! May we presume to account for this singular per- 
version? — perhaps the following short explanation will 
not be found very wide of the mark. 

Unfortunately for the fine arts, they are not more ex- 
empted from the influence of fashion than every thing 
else, in an age of luxurious refinement. The love of 
novelty, which may be considered as its inseparable at- 
tendant, requires something to excite enjoyment when 
the relish for what is natural begins to fail. Poetry, as 
well as music, however excellent, will, if often repeated, 
lose their original charm, and consequently every expe- 
dient will be resorted to as a temporary gratification. 
Accustomed as we have long been to the smoothness of 
polished numbers, and to sentiments accordant to the 
feelings of mankind, the ear has become tired with har- 
mony, and the palate cloyed with sweets. Some power- 
ful stimulus, however harsh, was therefore wecessary to 
provoke lost appetite ; and a species of poetical composi- 
tion, the very reverse of good writing, and repugnant to 



7^ 

the sentiments of humanity, has procured admirers ia 
the present century, which, we have good reason to 
think, would have been rejected, even twenty years ago 
with disgust. Should this explanation come near the 
truth, may it not be fairly questioned, whether poetical 
genius or poetical taste be at present most on the decline? 
It is almost unnecessary to add, that the above remarks 
can have no reference whatever to recent border strains, 
revived and imitated by one who, for boldness of image- 
ry, richness of colouring, and vigour of expression, may 
be said to stand unrivalled in these times, and whose po- 
etical subjects and sentiments are as remote from immo- 
rality as the whole tenor of his conduct. 



Note C. p. 34. 

'' The blithe notes echoed never.'* Taking into consi- 
deration the usual excitements of descriptive poetry, it 
13 not a little remarkable that the singular beauty and 
rural scenery of the banks of the " sylvan Jed'* should 
never have been sung, or once mentioned, by any of our 
pastoral poets. The only probable cause that can be as- 
signed for this omission is, that from the frequent in- 
iroads of the southern marauders, and the repeated cala- 
mities which this ill-fated spot, from its near vicinity to 
contending parties, experienced, it consequently became 
unfit for pastoral enjoyment or safety. As an additional 
support of this conjecture, the Zif/c/Ze is likewise unsung 
by any of our ancient poets, and we have reason to sup- 
pose from a similar cause. Armstrong, indeed, in his 
poem on Health, introduces his native stream, and talks 



73 

of" Doric lays tuned by her love-sick swains,'* with which 
we are totally unacquainted. Should this not be admit- 
ted as an additional proof that our pastoral songs and me- 
lodies were the actual compositions of the shepherds, it 
nnust at least be considered as a singular exception to 
the general tenor of these descriptive productions. That 
several of our popular songs and ballads were the com- 
positions of persons superior in station to the mere ten- 
ders of herds and flocks, cannot be doubted; but that the 
greatest number were composed by the shepherds them- 
selves seems highly probable. Independently of every 
thing peculiar to the situation of this description of men, 
and the uniform prevalence of poetry, during the exist- 
ence of the pastoral state in all parts of the globe, there 
is such minute delineations of rural scenes and objects^, 
such intimate acquaintance with particular haunts, and 
such repeated allusions to every thing connected with 
pastoral employment, displayed in our later songs and 
ballads, that seem to mark something more than the usual 
paintings of poetry. Not a bank, or stream, or hill, or 
dale is unnoticed ; and, while the general theme is rural 
occupations peculiar to pastoral life, we arc in a manner 
constrained to believe that the poet describes scenes and 
circumstances with which he was not only familiarly ac- 
quainted, but intimately connected. In support of these 
opinions,it is with no small pleasure the author subjoins 
the sentiments of a very acute and elegant writer on 
this subject. 

Dr. Beattie, in his admirable Essays on " Poetry and 
Music," after having pointed out the characteristical dif- 
ference of Highland music and song, and assigned the 
natural causes of its peculiarity, gives the following con- 
trast. " Some of the southern provinces of Scotland, 

G 



74i 

present a different prospect. Smooth and lofty hills, 
covered with verdure ; clear streams winding through 
long beautiful vallies; trees produced without culture, 
here straggling or single, and there crowding into little 
groves and bowers, with othep circumstances peculiar to 
the districts I allude to, render them fit for pasturage, 
and favourable to romantic leisure and tender passions. 
Several of the old Scotch songs take their names from 
the rivulets, villages, and hills adjoining to Tweed and 
Melrose,* a region distinguished by many charming va- 
rieties of rural scenery ; and, whether wc consider the 
face of the country, or the genius of the people, may 
properly enough be termed the Arcadia of Scotland. 
And all these songs (adds he) are sweetly expressive of 
love and tenderness, and other emotions suited to the 
tranquillity of pastoral life." Talking of the music, he 
farther observes : " Nor can I acquiesce in the opinion 
of those who give the honour of this invention to the 
monks of Melrose. I rather believe that it took its rise 
among men who were real shefiherds^ and who actually 
felt the sensations and affections whereof it is so very ex- 
pressive." Mr. RiTsoN likewise is clearly of this opi- 
nion. " One cannot adduce (he observes) the perform- 
ance of scholars and distinguished individuals as speci- 
mens of national song. The genuine and peculiar natu- 
ral song of Scotland is to be sought — not in the works of 
Hamilton, Thomson, Smollett, or even Ramsay j 
but — in the productions of obscure or anonymous au- 
thors, of shepherds and milk-maids, who actually felt the 
se;psations they describe ; of those, in short, who were 

* Covvden knows — Galla shiels — Galla water — Ettrick banks — 
Braes o' Yarrow-— Bush above Traquair> &c. 



7^ 

destitute of all the advantages of science and educationj 
and perhaps incapable of committing the pure inspira» 
tions of nature to writing ; and in this point of view, it is 
believed the English have nothing equal in merit, nor, in 
fact, any thing of the kind." Of the music, he observes, 
" it cannot be reasonably doubted, that many, if not most, 
or even all of the most celebrated and popular Scottish 
melodies, now extant, as distinguished from the High^ 
land airs, have actually been composed by natives of the 
Lowlands, speaking and thinking in the English lan- 
guage ; by shepherds tending their flocks, or by maids 
milking their ewes ; by persons, in short, altogether un- 
cultivated, or, if one may be allowed the expression, un- 
eorrupted by art, and influenced only by the dictates of 
pure and simple nature. The tunes now preserved must, 
therefore, have been noted by accident ; numbers have 
doubtless perished, and perhaps daily perishing, of equal, 
or possibly greater merit." 

Historical Essatj on Scottish Song". 



Note D. p. 34. 



*i£ut had you seen the shefiherd boyy Fanciful and 
perhaps improbable as this personification may at first 
sight appear, the author flatters himself, that, on a nearer 
view, it will be found defensible. While we labour in 
vain to ascertain the precise period when an important 
art or science began to enlighten and improve mankind, 
we may safely attribute its origin to some inspired cHild 
of genius, whose creative powers brought it first to view. 
But for such extraordinary men, it Is next to certain, that 



76 

rury of those delightful arts and useful discoveries which 
v/e now possess would never have been known, and far 
less have attained the perfection to which they are now 
arrived. Of these creative or inspired powers of the 
human mind, the arts of Poetry and of Miiaic have, in all 
ages, laid claim to particular attention and admiration, 
and, taking every thing under consideration, it cannot ex- 
cite surprise. The invention of a Homer is perhaps not 
less wonderful than that of an Archimedes, nor are the 
discoveries of a Newton more astonishing than the in- 
spired muse of a Shakespeare. In ascribing, therefore, 
the origin of our pastoral melodies and poetry in the 
south of Scotland fof which we know nothing) to a parti- 
cular shepherd, gifted with native genius, and influenced 
by concurring circumstances, the author humbly con- 
ceives he has done nothing but what poetical licence au- 
thorises, when no other lights can be obtained. Exclu- 
sively of this explanatory defence, it must be admitted, 
that in poetical painting there is additional interest pro- 
duced by personification. What would appear tame and 
flat in narrative, becomes animated in prosopopoeia, and 
throws the colouring of another delightful art over what 
otherwise would have neither light nor shade. Should 
this not be true, the author in the preceding poem, has 
been unpardonably guilty. 



Note E. p. 52. 

<* In cadence brisk and nmyibers meet" The striking 
diiference between the sprightly movements and exhili- 
rating strains of what are called our pastoral melodies 



77 

and songs, contrasted with those which are conceived to 
be of a much older date, could hardly escape the notice 
of those critics who have bestowed considerable attention 
on this captivating species of national music and poetry. 
The inference drawn, that certain changes or alterations 
had, at different periods, taken place in our melodies, 
was extremely natural, and, indeed, highly probable. 
Without pretending to assign the causes which might 
have produced these changes, they have contented them- 
selves with pointing out the distinguishing marks of 
early composition, l)y its extreme simplicity of construc- 
ture, and with tracing a gradual progress in musical 
science, by a more regular and artificial construction. 
In this investigation, a late writer,* not less remarkable 
for his elegance of taste than his knowledge of music, 
has gratified the public with a very beautiful little trea- 
tise OH our Scotch melodies and song, in which he has 
established three distinct eras, which, with much inge- 
nuity, he supposes, mark the progress of musical com- 
positions, from the extreme simplicity of its commence- 
ment to about the middle of the 17th century, when it 
ceased. To this opinion and arrangement, another cri-. 
tic,t no less remarkable for his acuteness and severity, 
opposes his decided negative ; and, in the course of his 
investigation, it must be confessed, starts objections, and 
produces facts, which have considerable weight, although 
he frequently misrepresents or mistakes Mr. Tytler's 
general positions. Without entering into a critical ex- 
amination of this controversy, it may be sufficient briefly, 
to observe, that unless we are disposed to doubt the evi* 

* The late Mr. Titi-kb of VVoodhovuseleeo 
^ Mr. EiTsoN on Scottish Song. 
G 2 



78 ^ 

dence of our own senses, and reject what mitst he ob- 
vious to every person conversant with musical composi- 
tion and expression, it is indisputable that many, if not 
the greater number of those melodies which have been 
long considered and called the " Pastoral Airs of the 
Southy* differ very materially from those which are now 
considered to be of a much older date, and that the sub- 
jects, as well as the sentiments conveyed in the songs 
that accompany them, bear little or no resemblance to 
each other. The author thinks it necessary here to re- 
mark, that he alludes not to works composed by our later 
poets, but such as have been known time immemorial, 
and unquestionably of considerable antiquity. 

When, or by what cause, these alterations took place, 
IS, at present, foreign to the question ; but that such must 
liave happened, admits of little doubt, when the following 
-circumstances are duly attended lo. Our Scottish melo- 
<dies (speaking generally) are distinguished by three qua- 
3ities peculiar to them, namely, dmplicity^ — tenderness^ — 
and plaintiveness^ or what perhaps may be more properly 
t«rmed iivelancholy. These have long procured them 
admirers; but what chiefly distinguishes our '-^ pastoral 
snelodies and songs of the south" from the others is 
■cteerfulness^ not only in tlie airs, but in the subjects and 
sentiments that accompany them. To argue that all this 
anight have very naturally happened du-ring the same 
jperiod and condition of the people, from tlie sanie cause 
wbich in the present time produces musical and poetical 
compositions perfectly different in their nature, would, 
W€ apprehend, be little to the purpose, when it is recol- 
lected, that, till a -certain period, (whatever time it was) 
nothing Tdlatlve to pastoral scenes or occupation is men- 
lloned in 'Our songs .or bullads, and that, =even setting mu- 



79 

sical cadence and expression altogether aside, the con^ 
struction of musical comjiosition^ (as Mr. Tytler has 
clearly shown) had, at some time, undergone a material 
alteration. Till some satisfactory cause is therefore as- 
signed for these unquestionable yotc^s, we certainly are at 
liberty to infer, that changes in our national melodies, 
and lyrical compositions, had actually occurred at some 
particular period, and consequently, that those which we 
'have good reason to consider as later compositions, were 
materially different from those that preceded them. 



The foregoing strictures, set dowti without met-?iod 
■or arrangement, are merely what occurred to the author 
■on a general view of a very obscure subject. It is hoped 
that they are delivered without either dogmatism or os- 
tentation ; and indeed, considering the total want of as- 
sistance he has had in the execution of the present workj 
it would have been altogether unbecoming in him to 
fhave assumed either, more especially, as the intention of 
what has been advanced was not to support a theory^ but 
to suggest what might probably induce otliers, more 
competent to the task, to prosecute inquiries, and, if pos- 
sible, to establish facts o^j which reliance might be pla- 
>ced. The subject certainly is not less interesting to the 
philosopher than it is to the antiquarian. It embraces 
what particularly concerns the inhabiiants of this part of 
^he united kingdom, and, the author would fain hope, the 
lovers of national music and sang still more. Should, 
however, nothing illustrative of this dark subject appear 
•through the gloom of antiquity, the author may at least 
console himself with having first attempted, however in- 
.eifectually, to re.mov-e it. I-Jypotiieiical .and fanciful as 



80 

his opinions may probably appear to some readers, the 
data on which they are founded cannot be altogether set 
aside. When all other resources are withheld from us 
by the ignorance or barbarism of unlettered times, na- 
tional poetry and music have been uniformly resorted to 
and, not unfrequently, have afforded aid. If these untu- 
tored arts are admitted as expressive of the natural pas- 
sions and emotions that produced them, we surely may 
safely infer, that what occasionally excited these passions 
and emotions must have been circumstances or events 
immediately connected with the existing state of society. 
Hence, the simple, unadorned picture of manners^ cus- 
toms, and prevailing occu/iations ; and hence, too, the 
reigning sentiments of a particular class or description of 
people. In the circumstances adduced in the prece<^ing 
notes, there is, if not positive proof, at least internal evi- 
dence, that the poetry and music peculiar to a particular 
district were intimately connected with the existing state 
of society. Fancy or imagination is here entirely out of 
the question ; for the music, as well as the poetry, is not 
only highly p.assionatei but peculiarly exfiressive. Had 
these been uniformly the same, the object of the present 
inquiry would never have occurred ; but they vary in so 
many important points, and present such opposite pic- 
lures, that it is impossible not to be struck with the dis- 
similitude.* If it is denied that this proceeded from any 

* It is not a little remarkable that we should have no fewer 
than four different kinds of music in Scpiland, all completely 
distinct in their nature, namely, the sovithern melodies ah-eady 
noticed; the western or Gaelic aifs; the noi'thern or Strathspey 
music, and that species of brisk exhilirating measure distin- 
g-uished by the name of r^e^ or dancing music, which cannot be 
considered as peculiar to any p^ticular quarter. Each of these, 



81 



change in the condition of the people, it is incumbeut on 
those who withhold their assent, to shew what the sources 
were from whence they flowed, and what occasioned so 
evident a change in the atyle^ saitbnentsy and descrifitions 
of the composers. On the other hand, should it be main- 
tained, or even alleged, that the pastoral state in the south- 
ern districts, neither succeeded the feudal, nor became 
more widely extended, to what circumstonce, or at what 
period, are we to ascribe productions particularly and ge- 
nerally descriptive of pastoral life, which is no where to 
be found during the existenee of the feudal stale? These 
questions are surely not unreasonable ; but what seems 
to put this last-mentioned point beyond all dispute is, 
that the pastoral state, not only existed long after the 
feudal state was extinct, but did not finally terminate till 
a very few years ago in many of the districts above allud- 
ed to. This fact can be proved by thousands now in life, 
for even thirty years ago, nothing was more common 
than flocks and herds roaming at large over uncultivated 
fields and uninclosed districts, now particularly appro- 
priated to agricultural operations ; nor has any country 
been more unequivocally marked and distinguished for 

however, has its peculiar charm, but so perfectly different from 
each other, that IK) person possessed of a musical ear can be at a 
loss to distinguish them the moment he hears them. — Can we 
venture to account for these sintjular musical distinctions in the 
same country? Can we suppose that they originated from any 
other cause than a difference in the relative situation, condition, 
and occupation of the inhabitants, combined with the influence 
of climate and local scenery? — The subject is certainly deserv- 
ing of philosophical attentign.—^ee Dr. Beattie on Poetry and 
Music, 



8^ 

general pasturage than the quarter immediately under 
review — From time immemorial, " The fiastoral Scenes 
and Songs of the South'* has been a phrase equally pro= 
verbial v/ith ^^ The feuds of the Border.'' 



THE HARP, 
A LEGENDARY TALE. 

IN TWO PARTS. 



me/rf a his^eadk a thiompan via. 



TO THE READER. 



THE writer of the present Poem thinks it neces- 
sary to acquaint the public, that it is founded on a 
sliort traditionary story, which reached him by the 
following accidental circumstance. A gentleman in 
Perthshire, well known for his researches into anti- 
quity and national character,* chancing while on a 
tour to the Hebrides, to hear some person say, < Pll 
never burn my harp for a womanf' took occasion to 
ask the meaning of the proverb — He received for an- 
swer, a simple unadorned tale, somewhat similar to 
the ground-work of the present poem; the singularity 
I of which struck him so forcibly, that he committed it 
! to writing. On a visit some years ago, to a friend:): 
who had accidently seen the manuscript, he related 
this little artless story to the autlior, and, with his 
; usual glow of colouring, diffused such an air of no- 
' Tclty and passion over it, as to suggest an idea that 
i something interesting might be made of it in verse. 
The first part was written shortly after, but the au- 
1 thor's sudden departure for Europe, put a stop for 
some time to any further attempt; although he must 
confess, inclination repeatedly disposed him to finish 

* Mr. Ramsay, of Auchertyre. 

j- ' Smelrg a loisg-eadh a thiompan ria.' 

^ The late Mr. Graham, of Gartmore. 

H 



86 

what he had begun. A tedious passage home, fur- 
nished him with ample opportunities to gratify this 
propensity — his residence in Britain since his arri- 
val, has enabled him to receive the opinion of his 
friends, and to avail himself of their strictures. 

Having given tliis short account of his Harp, the 
author hoW presents it to the world, with that mix- 
ture of hope and diffidence which tlie partiality of 
friends, and the uncertainty of public approbation na- 
turally excite. Of its merits, he shall say nothing. 
In an age, and in a country, however, so highly cul- 
tivated as the present, one observation may not be 
improper. Should the poem in some instances ap- 
pear too irregular and abrupt in its construction, the 
author begs that it may not be imputed to inadver- 
tency, but design. His aim was to render his tale 
rather interesting than regular, and animated rather 
than correct. Nature and passion indeed, were Ijis 
chief objects ; and as these can never derive such 
energy from descriptive as from dramatic composi- 
tion, it is almost unnecessary for him to observe, that 
the Ancient Ballad has been his model. 

Edinburgh, 
April 15, 1789. 



THE HARt^o 



PART I. 

STILL'D is the tempest's blustering roar ; 

Hoarse dash the billows of the sea 5 — 
But who on Kilda's dismal shore 

Cries — ' Have I burnt my harp for thee !^ 

^Tis Col, wild raving to the gale, 

That howls o'er heath, and blasted lea 5 

Still as he eyes the lessening sail, 

Cries — ^ Have I burnt my harp for thee 1' 

— Bright was thy fame in Bara's isle. 
Sweet bard ! where many a rival sung; 

Oft hadst thou wak'd the tear and smile 
As soft thy harp melodious rung : 

Oft hadst thou touchM the female heart, 
(To love I ween ! and pity true) 

Till Mora came to hear thy art ; — 
Mora, with eye of softening blue. 



88 

The maid he priz'd above the throng 
That pressed to hear his raptur'd strain ; 

The maid, who melted at the song, 
But trifled with a lover's pain : 

Long had he borne the trcach^oiis smile 
That cherish'd hope, and left despair; 

The promisM bliss wliich female guile 
As oft dispersed in empty air; 

Till shunn'd by ev'ry constant maid; 

Condemned by friends; by kindred prest; 
Deceitful thus, in smiles array'd, 

Mora the sorrowing youth addrest; 

'"•Too long, O Col! in plaintive moan 

Thou'st strung thy Harp to strains divine; 

Add but two strings of varied tone. 

This heart, this yielding heart is thine.' 

Two strings the youth with anxious care, 
Half doubtful, to his Harp applies ; 

And oft, in vain, he turns each air, 
And oft each varying note he tries ; 

At length (unrivaiFd in his art !) 

With new-born sounds the valley rings ; — 



89 

Col claims his Mora's promis'd heart 
As deep he strikes the varied strings ! 

Three moons, three honied moons, are past 
Since Col, enraptur'd laugh'd at care ; 

And oft the tuneful Harp he blest 
That won a nymph so good and fair : 

Till mindful of those tender ties 

That fashion's sons would blush to name| 
With soften'd voice, and melting sighs, 

He thus accosts his peerless dame. 

• Three months, dear partner of my bliss ! 

Three fleeting months have shed their charms 
Since first I snatch'd the bridal kiss, 

And clasp'd perfection to my arms : 

Yet happiness, however true, 

Must fade if selfish or confin'd ; — 

Your friends now claim affections due ; 
The kindred transports of the mind ! 

Each parent mourns our cold delay ; 

They think of Mora with a tear : 
The gale invites — at early day 

To Cana's sea-beat shore we steer,' 
H 2 



9P 

The morn blash'd fair; mild blew the gale. 
The lark to heaVen light warbling springs; 

Col smiles with love, spreads quick the sail, 
And sweeps with ravish'd heart the strings 

But ah ! how short the transient gleams 
That light with joy the human breast ! — 

The tempest raves and wildly screams 
Each frighted sea fowl to her nest, 

High rage the billows of the deep 
That lately rolFd serenely mild, 

And dash'd near Kilda^s awful steep ; 
Col elasps his love with horror wild. 



For cold's the form o'er which he hung 



With raptur'd eye the morn before ; 
id mute and tunele&s is the tongue 
That charmed so late on Bara's shore:; 



And pale and lifeless is the cheek 
That glow'd so late with rosy hue ; 

The eye that melting joys could speak 
Is clos'd !— the eye of soft'ning blue. 

Hard with the furious surge he strove^ 
His Love and fav'rite harp to save ;, 



91 

Till deep in Crona's sea worn cove^ 
He bears them safe from storm and wave. 

But cove, nor love's assiduous care 

Could ebbing life's warm tide restore !— 

Pale, wet, and speechless lay the fair 
On Kilda's bleak and stormy shore. 

Oft, oft her breathless lips of cUy 
With frantic cries he fondly prest ; 

And while a senseless corse she lay, 
He strain'd her madly to his breast. 

But who can paint the pencil true 

The scene, when sighs first struggling stole 
(Which thus by magic love he drew) 

Deep laboring from her fluttering soul ! 

^ She breathes ! — she lives 1' the minstrel cricd^ 
^ Life has not fled this beauteous form! — 

Protecting heaven! some aid provide! — 
Shield — shield my trembler from the storm ! 

^No roof its friendly smoke displays ! — 
No storm-scap'd faggot, turf, nor tree — = 

Xo shrub to yield one kindly blaze, 
And warm my love to life and me ! 



92 

Dark grows the night! — and cold and sharp 
Beat wind, and hail, and drenching rain ! 

Nought else remains — PU burn my Harp !' 
He cries, and breaks his harp in twain. 

'For thee, O Mora ! oft it rung, 

To guard thee from each rival's art ; 

And now, though broken and unstrung, 
It guards from death thy constant heart/ 

Bright flam'd the fragments as he spoke ; 

One parting sigh his Harp he gave : 
The storm- drench\l faggots blaze thro' smoke, 

And snatch his Mora from the grave. 



PART If. 



NOW heedless rav^l the stormy nightj 
For instant terror frown'd no more, 

And cheerful blaz'd the spreading light 
Round Kilda^s dark and dismal shore ; 

And cheerful smiFd the grateful pair, 
And talked of death and dangers past, 

When loud the voice of wild despair 
Came rusliing on the midnight blast. 

Chill horror seized each lover's heart — 
' Ah me ! what dismal sounds draw near ! 

Defend us heaven V with sudden start 
Cry'd Mora, thrilPd with frantic fear. 

One hand supports his trembling wife, 
The other grasps his trusty glave ; 

^My Harp,' he cries, Hias given thee life, 
And thiSf that precious life shall save !' 

^No danger comes,' deep sigh'd a form. 
As near the cave it shiv'ring stood ; 



94? 

^A stranger shipwrecked by the storm 
Implores the geu'rous and the good ; 

No danger comes — ah me ! forlorn ! 

A wretch by woes and tempests tost! — - 
From love, from friends, and kindred totiHj 

And dash'd on Kilda's frightful coast ! 

Hestless with grief, at opening day 
For Lewis' isle I spread the sail ; 

Sweet rose the lark with cheerful lay, 
And sweetly blew the flatting gale ! 

Ah fate relentless ! thus to cheat 

With baneful lure and treacherous smile ! 

Were human suiF'rings not complete 
Till wrecked on Kilda's desert isle ! 

LurM by the light that gleams afar. 

With fainting steps these cliffs I prest : — 

O ! may it prove a polar star. 

And guide to pity's shelt'ring breast ! 

Quick from his grasp the falchion flies 
As Col each opening arm extends ; 

^Approach, ill fated youth !' he cries, 

' Here^ — here are none but suffering friends ! \ 



9.^ 

Like thee, we haiPd the matin song, 
The flattering gale, and faithless tide!— 

How sweet! by zephyrs borne along. 
My Harp and Mora by my side ! 

Why starts the youth ? approach ; draw neaf^ 
Behold the wreck of storm and wave — - 

'Tis all that^s left! — my Harp so dear 
I buru^d, that fair one's life to save !^ 

First pale, then crimson grew his cheeky 
And sorely shook his manly frame ! 

His fault'ring tongue refused to speak^ 
Save to repeat his Mora's name — 

A name which oft had eharm'd his ear, 

And e'en from childhood grew more sweet $ 
A name which love had rendered dear, 
^ And sorrow taught him to repeat ! 

Long had he nurs'd the kindling flame, 
Long, long possessed her virgin heart ; 

But party feuds and discord came, 
And forced the tend'rest pair to part. 

Torn hapless thus from all he lovM, 
The wretched wand'rer left his home, 



96 

From isle to isle incessant rovM ;— 
His only wish to idly roam ' 

Oft had he brav'd the tempest's war, 

Unaided in his slender bark ; 
Oft lonely steer'd by some faint star 

That glimmer'd thro' th' involving dark ; 

Oft, oft uncertain whether driven, 
Or near some rock, or breaker borne ; 

He'd quit his helm to guiding heaven. 
And sigh his cheerless lot till morn f 

Oft had the wild heath been his bed, 
On some lone hill, or craggy steep ; 

While light'nings flash'd around his head^ 
And eagles scream'd his woes asleep. 

Thus pass'd his wand'ring life away, 
^ A wretch by woes and tempests tost,' 

Till fortune, in her changeful play, 
Wreck'd him on Kilda's fatal coast. 

Ah ! little thought he while he strove 

'Gainst whelming wave and rocky shore, 

Yon light would guide him to his love. 
For whom these ceaseless ills he bore I 



97 

♦ Why starts the youth ? — approach — draw 
near ; 

Behold the wreck of storm and wave ! — 
"Tis all that's left? — my Harp so dear 

I burn'd; that fair one's life to save !' 

A glance from Mora's speaking eye 

Half calm'd the fond youth's labMng 
breast, 

The tale goes round — the bleak winds sigh. 
And Col mistrustless sinks to rest. 

Ah ! how could cold distrust possess 
A breast so gen'rous, kind, and true ! 

A heart still melting to distress, 

To love — false fair one ! and to yoci — « 

The morn arose with aspect drear, 

The waves still dash with sullen roar — = 

.G<rt starts from rest — no Mora's near. 
The treach'rous pair are far from shore ! 

From Kilda's cliif that towers on high, 
He spies the white sail far at sea ; 

And while the big tear fills each eye, 

Cries — -^ Have I burn'd my Harp for thee/ 

I 



98 

^ O most ungrateful of thy kind ! 

And most unjust to love and me!— 
O woman ! woman ! light as wind, 

I'll ne'er burn Harp again for thee !' 









THE PLEASURES OF AMBITION, 



UNE REVERIE A LA CORSE, ISO^. 

0]V AN IMPERIAL CORONATION. 

Hferet lateri lethalis arundo. Virg, 

THE four Avinds roar round Europe^s shores^ 
Deep growled the threatening thunder ! 
As from the mud, besmeared with bloqd, 
Up towered a thing of wonder ! 
Its head was blacky its face was chalk, 
Each eye, though sunk, was gleaming, 
Its sleepless brain, with racking pain, 
Knew neither rest nor dreaming ! 



In its right hand it waved a brand 
Of scorching brimstone blazing ! 
The dismal glare made myriads stare, 
But all were sad, while gazing ! 
Its left hand prest (by way of rest) 
On scattered crowns and sceptres ; 
Close at its back, in horrid clack, 
Grrinned fiends, or guilt's inspectors. 



100 

^ Avaunt !' it ciied^ ^ye sons of pride ! 

Ye grumblers i dread displeasure ! 

My height^ ye see — crouch ! — hend the knee.' 

Nor dare that height to measure ! 

Kings, — kiss the rod ! — I move a god ! 

A god of self- creation : 

Should one rebel, by heaven and hell ! 

I'll send him to damnation : 

If one but speaks, in death he squeaks ! 

^Tis meet you all were civil ! 

If one complains, bound fast in chains, 

I'll send iiim to the devil. 

What ! — doubt my power ! — behold the tower 

Of human height and splendour ! 

Popes, late our foe, now kiss my toe, 

And tremble at my grandeur. 



Shall then my sway not clear the way 

For unprescribed possession ? 

Shall not my nod secure the road 

To plfinder and oppression ? 

Shall reptiles dare, enleagued, to war 

And meditate correction ; 

Or dream to curb what may disturb 

Their safety or protection? 



m 



101 

A pigmy state, with gold elate^ 
Pretentls to check dominion ! 
A Russian bear attempts in air 
To soar on eagle pinion ! 
A Swedish owl presumes to growl^ 
And form a northern faction ! 
A Turkish mute dares to dispute 
My title and subjection J— 

But s^on I'll crush Turk, Swede, and Rush^ 

With all their schemes nefarious ! 

As for John Bull — when reason's cool, 

I think each plan precarious. 

Yet John loves beef; his dread and grief 

Is want of constant stuffing; 

Should famine come, defection's hum 

Would soon drown naval puffing ' 

Oh ! for the day, when want's dismay 

Would damp this purse-proud nation ! 

Then should kind gales, with flowing sails^ 

Waft us to rich sensations ! 

My sallad boys would taste new joys I 

Each raptur'd sound would tell us, 

That what half feasts these grumbling beasts^ 

Would stuff my poor starved fellows I 

I 2 



i02 



Cnrse on the spot, where hardy Scot 

Through perils scorns dejection ! 

Each home-loved rill, and heath-crowned hilL 

Bind fast his warm affection: — 

Nor famine's gloom, nor war's death- doom, 

Can damp his dauntless valour : 

A vet'ran Scot* spoil'd Egypt's plot ! 

Ah ! pangs ! that was a nailer I 

What's at my back — ye hell-hound pack, 

Avaunt ! and cease tormenting ! 

I know it all !- — ye can't appal ! 

I see black storms fermenting; 

And though I fear yon Russian bear 

May yet breed some disaster. 

And oft times think this northern link 

Will prove a blistering plaster, — 

Yet, while I eye deep Prussia sly, 
And cautious watch Batavi, 
Prepared for blows, Pil make these fores^ 
Ere long, cry out — peccavi. 
Expenses flow ! — my treasury's low I 
(No plunder makes me richer !) 
I dread a drain ! — no longer Spain ! 
Ah ! morbleu ! — there's a twiteher 1 

* Abexxromby, 



103 

But up ! proud heart — why do I start? 

Hence, phantoms, and chimeras I 

Brains racked like mine should ne'er divine 

When plagues and storms are near us. 

Since crimes have shed, on this crown'd head.^ 

Such undreamt power and splendour, 

To crimes I turn ! — let kingdoms burn, 

And scorch up to a cinder ! 

Through blood I wade ! (my thriving trade) 

By this Fve gained dominion. 

Should fate rebel, secured in hell, 

I've one firm bond of union ! 

Old Nick and I have learnt to vie, 

Which should excel the other ; 

Old Nick and me can't disagi'ee. 

He owns me for his brother. 

By him I rose, and crushM my foes ; 

From him I learnt each lesson ; 

When all hope's flown, firm on his throne 

I'm sure of joint possession. — 

Up then, proud heart! — no more I starts 

To valour pride is given ! 

Better in hell (as poets tell) 

To reign, than serve in heaven !' 



Down sunk the sprite to dismal night I 

Deep roared each blast and billow ! 

He sunk opprest, to find some rest, 

But sleep still fled his pillow ! — 

Learn hence, ye great ! mid pomp and state. 

What lawless power embitters, 

Not all that's high can peace supply ; 

Not all is gold that glitters ! 



DONALD AND FLORA. 

A BALLAD, 

On the Death of a Friend killed at the Battle of Saratoga— 1778. 



WHEN many hearts were gay^ 
Careless of aught but play. 
Poor Flora slipt away 

SadcFning to Mora.* 
Loose flowed her yellow hair, 
Quick heav'd her bosom bare^, 
As thus to the troubled air 

She vented her sorrow : 

Loud howls the stormy west, 
Cold, cold is winter's blast — 
Haste then, O Donald, haste I 

Haste to thy Flora ! 
Twice twelve long months are o^er 
Since on a foreign shore 
You promised to fight no more, 

But meet me in Mora. 

* A retreat so named by the Lovers. 



loa 

^ Where now is Donald dear?^ 
Maidg cry with taunting sneer ; 
^ Say is he still sincere 

To his lovM Flora?' 
Parents upbraid my moan; 
Each heart is turned to stone ; — 
Ah Flora ! thou'rt now aloue^ 

Friendless in Mora ! 

Gome then^ O come away I 
Donald, no longer stay ! — 
Where can my rover stray 

From his lov'd Flora ? 
Ah, sure he ne^er could be 
False to his vows and me ! — • 
heavens ! is not yonder he 

Bounding o'er Mora ! 

^ Never, O wretched fair/ 
Sigh'd the sad messenger, 
^ Never shall Donald mair 

Meet his lov'd Flora ! 
Cold as yon mountain snow 
Donald thy love lies low ! 
He sent me to soothe thy woe, 

Weeping in Mora. 



Well fought our valiant slain 
On Saratoga's plain ; 
Thrice fled the hostile train 

From British glory. 
But ah I though out foes did flee. 
Sad was each victory. 
Youth, love, and loyalty, 

Fell far from Mora ! 

^Here, take this love- wrought plaid; 
Donald expiring said, 
* Give it to yon dear maid 

Drooping in Mora. 
Tell her, O Allan, tell ! 
Donald thus bravely fell. 
And that in his last farewell 

He thought on his Flora/* 

Mute stood the trembling fair, 
Speechless with wild despair, 
Then striking her bosom bare^ 

Sigh'd out ^ poor Flora ! 
,Ah Donald !— ah well-a^day I' 
Was all the fond heart could say. 
At length tlie sound died away 

Feebly on Mora, 



TO J. W. 
ON HIS BIRTH DAY. 

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SEVENTY TWO AND TWENTT SEVEN. 



M. ANOTHER year to banish gloom/ 
And still my friend retains his bloom ! — 
Still laughs and jokes, and tells his tale ; 
Eats heartily : drinks homebrew'd ale 5 
Enjoys good health ; is fat and stout, 
Though sometimes tortur'd with the gout — 

W, The gout/ young man ! come ! come, refrain! 
You know, Macneil, ^tis but a sprain; — 
A random step — a heedless tread — 
You smile, I see, and shake your head— 
— Well ! be it so— witli all my heart— 
You know the truth — I know the smart ! 

M, Be thankful, sir ! in life's dull round 

Few W- -s are to be found : 

Oppressed with want, perplexed with carer 
Diseased, or maddening with despair, 
The poor or wealthy rarely find 
Sound health conjoined with tranquil mind, 



109 

Now these, you know, have blest you long^ 
But yet, my friend! you're not still young; 
And Hwixt us two, were truths all told, 
You think the gout sounds plaguy old--— 
Arrival at years full threescore ten — 

?r. Who told you that \—M. Why, there 
again 
The sound is old — pox on this tongue ! 
I wish to God you still were youn§ ! 
' — If I am wrong I cry you mercy ; 
My proofs, I own, are only — hearsay — 
But tell the truth and I'll engage, sir ; — 



sir- 



W. — I'm not oblig'd to tell my age, 

M, Well ! be it seventy, more ov less, 
I say your lot is happiness. _ 
True, once a year that stomach sprain 
A month or longer gives you pain. 
The fault's you own ; I can assure you 
In half the time a child might cure you. 



W, Dear Mac! the means? M. Why then I'll 
tell ye 
Stay more at home, please less the belly. 
Mark now, my friend, and then complain, 
Pray what is e'en a month of pain ? 
K 



110 

Unknown to fever, gout, or stone, 
The passing year glides smoothly on ; 
And while life frets and discomposes 
Hear how you spread your bed of roses. 

Esteemed by all, by some ador^l, 
' You often grace your neighbour's board ; 
They give whate'er you prize as best, 
Old wine — old joke — old ale — old jest, 
Yet mix a charm that all surpasses ! — 

W. What's that you rogue? M, Young bonny 
lasses. 

Some hours in social converse blest, 
What say you to a game at whist P 
Agreed — cut in — you get the worst, 
FU not aver he will be curst, 
But for his shufflings cuts^ and dealings^ 
I would not own them for — some shillings.* 

At supper next I see you sit 
Replete with glee and social wit ; 
With some fair nymph you laugh and sport, 
Your feast an egg ; your liquor port. 

* Alluding to his constant practice of commenting on his part, 
ner's shuffling, cutting, and dealing the ca,rds whenever he chan- 
ced to have a bad hand. 



Ill 

The toast goes pound, you ask a song, 
' The medley, Mac — if not too long.' 
To sing, you know, I ne'er refuse, 
(My song is readier than my muse;) 
But let me warble what I'm able, 
You're still the blithest at the table. 

Temp'rate and wise^ at early day 
You spring from rest refresh' d and gay ; 
And sallying forth from six hours nap, 
Away you stroll in gown and cap : 
Old honest James,* with ruddy cheek 
And hobbling gait you need not seek ; 
He's still at hand to banish sorrow, 
To doff his hat and bid good morrow ; 
For ^ weel,' he says, ' round ilka &pot 
He likes to see your honx)r slot.' 
Here, on some gr pen inviting walk. 
With him you jest, with him you talk; 
Mark how each vernal beauty blows. 
How fresh the pink, how sweet the rose ; 
How nature's op'ning charms advance, 
And sigh for him who calls it — chcuicc/ 
Here, too, on every blossora'd spray 
The thrush and linnet yield their lay, 
Around the house the cooing dove 
Or flutt'ring flies, or woos his love, 

* An old gardener remarkable for a peculiar phraseology. 



112 

And many a fowl with ardour keen 
Crreet their kind patron on the £;reen, 
While Kover* mild, and Trap^ in high 

Caper and frisk whene'er they spy ye. 

Some time in study next ensues, 
Then off 2:0 slippers ; on go shoes ; 
From crimson cap and nightgown gay, 
A tliree-taird wig^ and coat of grey. 
Should friends arrive, they'll get pot-luck 5 
A cod's head stew'd, or roast veal pluck f ; 
Should none appear — ^ Why, be it so, 
For here comes I)avie,J Jeis 4 find Joe ;J 
With friends like these Fm ne'er alone,' 
You cry — but where's your favorite, JoiiNpf 

Ah ! stop, brisk muse, a little while; 
A sudden pang has check'd the smile — 
Ye sportive rhimes — effusions gay, — 
Ye trifling jests — hence ! hence — away ! 
For other tasks for nie remain ! 
The pensive thought ; the plaintive strain ; 
The frequent sigh ; the throbbing breast 
That beats for friendship — late possess'd ! 
That droops for mirth's enlivening string, 
Wit's attic zest, without its sting; 

* Two favorite dogs. f Two favorite dishes. 

i His daughter and three sons. 



US 

Genius that glow'd with sense refinM, 
And worth iliat charm'd and bless'd man^ 

kind ! 
And thou, poor muse, whose rambling song 
In artless numbers roll'd along ; 
Heedless I ween of critic sneer 
When candid, skilful John was near 
To watch thy flight, and guide thy way, 
And prune thy wild excursive lay ! — 
Ah me ! no more on soaring wing 
Thy careless notes thou dar'st to sing ! 
Tim^'ous and sad now fluttering fly ! — 
^Tis strains like these thou now must try ! 
Yes, wretched thing ! go — vent thy moan, 
Thy friend !---thy early guide- --is gone 1* 

* The excellent person here mentioned, was one of the most 
dear and intimate friends the Author ever had. Ke was a man 
who (independently of the most amiable virtues) possessed great 
genius : but like many others of distinguished abilities, too indo- 
lent to prosecute or apply his talents to advantage. His memory- 
was so extraordinary, that he could get by rote eight hundred 
lines of poetry in a day without the omission of a word ; and he 
once offered, in the Author's presence, to lay a considerable bet, 
that without any assistance whatever, he would in three days 
play over every move in Philidore's Treatise on Chess. He was 
an admirable critic, and no contemptible poet; both of which 
arts he cultivated with care ; and his excellence in painting, had 
it been encouraged, would have entitled him to eminence. He 
likewise possessed an exquisite taste in music, and what renders 
the character singular is, that with these gifts of genius, mathema- 
tics, calculaition, and abstract science seemed to be his fort«. 
K 2 



TO MRS. PLEYDELL, 

WITH A FOT OF HONEY, 

Dunns' the ferment occasioned by the Popish Bill of Toleration^ 
1779* 

HEMOV'D thank God ! from fierce conten. 

tioiis ; 
Unknown to parties or Conventions ; 
Alike averse to rage and folly, 
And foe to gloomy melancholy; 
Amid confusion, war, and zeal, 
Accept these lines from bard MacneilL 

When morning comes, my breakfast down. 
Composed and wrapp'd in flannel gown, 
Till Andrewf comes my brains to muddy^ 
I dedicate some hours to study--- 
Eehold me then, in elbow chair, 
Turn o^er a leaf with serious air ; 
Or seizVl with strong poetic fit, 
Compose some precious scrap of wit :--- 

'* This bill, so harmless, and indeed laudable in its principles 
occasJoncf!, through fanaticism and intolerance, the burning of 
the Popish chapel in Edinburgh, and the dreadful conflagration 
in Londof. 

f The hair-dresser. 



115 

Fir'cl by the muses melting strain, 

I rise — sit clown — get up again ; 

When 'midst my raptures, frisks, and papers, 

Jounce! in comes Christy* with — the papers 

With some regret I drop the quill — 
Well! what's the news? the Popish Bill. 
Is Keppel tried? — a dull essay 
From fierce I. A.f to sly John Hay ;t 
Has d'Estaing saiPd ? — to show the better 
What papists are, this day a letter, 
Just from the press, which well explains 
What hellish laws that sect maintains V 
Where's Byron? — ^Murders ! popish tricks; 
No faith ! — no faith, with heretics !' 
Asham'd ; — provok'd in every page, 
I curse the papers in a rage ; 
Start up and ring with all my might; 
— Here ! take this nonsense from my sight ! 

Scarce have I banish'd raving faction 
Till in bolts J yf in distraction. 

* The maid servant. 

f A nonjuring' clergyman and a Roman priest. These two 
gentlemen kept up for some months a daily warfare in the public 
prints, which» together with &\lvevi\semenis of proiestant associa- 
tio7is, and pamphlets for and against popery, generally occupied 
nearly two-thirds of the newspapers. 

4 A mad politician. 



116 

^ All — all is lost ! — d'Estaing's gane forth ! 
God curse that headstrong blockhead North I 
"No scheme succeeds— weNe uo invention ! 
This nation's ruin'd past redemption ! 
Our fleets are beat!---our trade is gone--- 
We'U be invaded ten to one— 
Ecod ! the French may come to-morrow- 
It won't cause universal sorrow. 
They've many friends in this wise nation--- 
The Popish bill of toleration.' 
Stop, Doctor !— stop !---^ Why should I stop^ 

pray? 
I'm really sick of bill of popery- -- 
^The deuce you are!— your reasons---eh!' 
Some other time---some other day. 

Thus, doubly teas'd 'twixt saint and sinner, 
An invitation comes to dinner : 
To dress I run— thank heav'n, I cry, 
Some pious hearts are often dry ; 
A cheerful glass may work a wonder ; 
May still, perhaps, this papal thunder— 
O ! grant us, Bacchus, wine that's strong ! 
Kaise ! Orpheus, raise the blithesome song ! 
Let Pleydell come, serenely gay ! 
And social mirth shall crown the day. 
Flush'd with fond hope, away I haste— » 
(Alas ! why must I tell the rest!) 



117 

111 spite of disiiesj nice and rare, 
In spite of wit- -for you were tlicre ; 
In spite of ale, punch, port, and sherrj ; 

Though S n sang, we ne'er were merry. 

Ask you the cause ? 'twas indigestion 
From one curs'd sauce each disli was drest in 5 
For while We ate and drank our fill, 
Still in our stomachs stuck the—bill. 

*Tis now, methinks, five weeks at least, 
Since first I sought some tranquil feast ; 
Where wholesome food and converse kind 
Might please the stomach, cheer the mind ; 
Make folks good-humour'd, frank, and civil; 
And banish popery to---the devil! 
I sought, I say ; nay racked my brain, 
To find this feast, but all in vain ; 
When t'other morn, in elbow chair, 
UntyM my shoes, uncomb'd my hair, 
Two hours from bed, and breakfast o'er, 
Rap ! went the knocker at the door. 
Upstarted Christy from the wheel-- 
^ Is this the house o' Squire Macneill ?^ 
Yes,---what is that ?---^ A can, my queen, 
Just come to Leith frae Aberdeen ; 
The freight a shilling—carriage twa— 
The weight Fm sure is far frae sma'— 



118 

I wonder what the sorrow's in^t, 

It maun be leed or stane o' flint ! 

The deil be on't ! it^s hurt my heed, 

It's surely fiiPd wi' stanes or leed !' 

The chatterhig rogue received his money, 

The stanes and lead tarn'd out good---Ho^EY| 

Pure, rich, and sparkling as you see 5 

The product of th' industrious bee : 

A balmy gift from shrub and flower ! 

The fruits of many a toilsome hour. 

Struck with the prospect of my treasure> 
I felt, methought, unusual pleasure ; 
A sudden charm ; a joy refin'd 
Shed peace and comfort o'er the mind \ 
Each sound of Popery died away. 
And thus I said---or meant to say--- 

In past'ral days, when wants were few, 
When love beat strong and friendship true, 
Our fathe¥S, nurtur'd in content, 
A calm unruffled life time spent 
Mid herds and flocks (their only care), 
A feast like this was oft their fare. 
Here, by the streamlet's bubbling side, 
Unknown to controversial pride, 
The oaten pipe and rural lay 
Chas'd spleen and ranc'rous hate away-- 



119 

UnskilFd in schoolmen's mystic dance^ 

Untrain'd in dark Intolerance, 

No zealous plirensy fir'd the breast 5 

No fears fanatic broke their rest ; 

By nature taught they still pursuM 

What whispering conscience said was good $ 

Nor could their social minds approve 

Of aught that severM peace and love ! 

Harassed with zeal, and frantic passion^ 
And for the times— quiie^ out of fashion 5 
I can't help sighing for repose, 
Envying the life our fathers chose. 
At morn and eve whene'er I spy 
My warning can with placid eye, 
In midst of fierce religious splutter, 
I spread, with smiles, my bread and butter; 
Draw near my feast of sparkling brown, 
Lay thick the charm, then—gulp it down ; 
Experience joys serenely still. 
Nor pass one thought on--PopiSH Bill. 

I 

Take then, dear Pleydell ! take this treasure, 
i The source of soothing peace and pleasure ; 
! When dark and dismal qualms attack you, 
li Or fears of popish priests distract you, 
ii Observe the rule I herewith give you, 
11 And take my word, it will relieve you. 



ISO 

When Sol through curtains pops his head 
And wakes sweet Aggy^ still in bed, 
Or Vesper mild through whispering groves 
Lures Mary* to the haunts she loves ; 
When cups are rang'd and muffins hot; 
And green or eongo in the pot ; 
Instead oi popery^ s dismal gloom, 
Pour out a dish of rich perfume : 
Dismiss your fears— be frank---be funny- 
Produce with smiles your Can of Honey. 
Glance o'er these lines ('twill be an honour 
Conferred upon the happy donor ;) 
Excuse whatever you think is said ill ;--- 
In short, be— just blythe Mrs. Pleydell. 

* Two young ladies who at the time resided with Mrs. Plc^ 
dell. 



TO ELIZA 

ON HER MARRIAGE. 



YOU'RE now, Eliza, fix-d for life; 

In other words, you're now— -a wife ; 

And let me whisper in your ear, 

A wife, though fix'd, has cause to fear; 

For much she risks, and much sliQ loses 

If an improper road she chooses. 

Yet think not tkat I mean to fright you, 

My plan, au contraire^s to delight you ; 

To draw the lines where comfort reaches ; 

Where folly flies ; where prudence teaches. 

In short, Eliza, to prevent you 

From nameless ills that may torment you : 

And ere bright Hymen's torch burns faintly, 

From nuptial glare conduct you gently. 

Where (cur'd of wounds from Cupid's quiver) 

A milder lustre beams for ever ! 

First, then, Eliza, change your carriage, 
Courtship's a different thing from marriage, 
And much I fear (by passion blinded) 
This change at first is seldom minded. 



im 



The miss who feasts on rich romances?* 
And love-sick sonnets^ wisely fancies 
That all the end of ardent wooing 
Is constant billings constant cooing. 
The nymph again, whom caution teaches« 
To doubt the truth of rapt'rous speeches, 
She whom experience oft has schooled, 
And shewn how husbands may be — ruVd, 
Laughs at the whims of fond sixteen, 
And thinks that wedlock stamps- — a queen. 
Now I (though ne'er, alas ! contracted) 
Consider both as half distracted ; 
And will predict that endless strife 
Must be the lot of either wife. 
Not that I would infer from hence 
That men of feeling, worth, or sense, 
Could ever try to wound or pain 
A tender breast with cold disdain ; 
Or e'er descend to storm and battle 
At fondly -foolish female prattle. 
Yet if sweet madam, wiihout reason. 
Will fret and fume, and mutter treason. 
Plaguing her plain, unpuliing spouse. 
About his former oaths and vows. 
And tender sighs, and soft expressions. 
With various comments and digressions, 
I will not swear that mere connexion 
Will guard the husband's warm aiTeciion ; 



1S3 

And when affection cools, they say 
The husband's apt to — go astray. 

Maids, prais'd and flattered all their lives, 
Expect as much when they are wives ; 
And think when husbands cease palavering, 
That love (sweet souls !) is surely wavering: 
Then hey ! for pets, and cold distrust. 
Doubt's sullen brow, and dreams accurst:— 
The game goes on, ma'am's in the dumpsj 
And jealousy at last is trumps. 
For thee, fair flowxr ! of softest dye, 
That caught so late each vagrant eye, 
Still breathing sweets, still blooming gay, 
Beauteous in winter as in May : 
For thee this truth the muse has penn'd. 
The muse — but more thy anxious friend : 
^ Woman's bright charms were giv'n to lure us, 
They catch, 'tis true 5 but can't secure us.' 

Sage Solomon, who paints with beauty 
A virtuous woman's worth and duty, 
Compares her to a ship of trade, 
That brin2;s from far her dailv bread.* 
TIlis may be true ; but as for me, 
I'll draw a plainer simile, 

* She is llks the mecchant ships, she brin^elh her food from 
afar, Prov. xxxi. v, 14. 



1^4 



And call a virtuous wife a gem, 
Which for its worth we ne'er contemn^ 
Though soon its water^ size and hue^ 
Grow quite familiar to the view. 
What then ensues? Why, faith, 1*11 tell ye 
We think of nothing but — the value. 
Yet take this gem and lay it by 
From the possessor's careless eye, 
Conceal its lustre, dazzling bright. 
From beaming daily on his sight, 
I'll take you any bet at pleasure. 
Whene'er he views this tempting treasure, 
With eager bliss and sparkling eyes 
He'll mark each new-born charm arise, 
And with the joy of first possession, 
Admire and rave sans intermission ! 

If women, therefore, would be wise, 
Instead of murmurs, tears and sighs. 
And sullen moods, and scolding frays, 
When lovie's absent for some days, 
Let ev'ry female art conspire 
To drive him from the parlour fire^ 
Of all the plagues in wedded life. 
To teaze or to torment a wife, 
There's none more likely to increase 
The bane of matrimonial peace, 



12D 

Than the tame husband always by 
With prying and suspicious eye. 
Mark then, when ***^ goes to town, 
Smile thou, when other wives would frown; 
He only goes (nay, don't be angry) 
To take a walk to make him hungry ^ 
To taste awhile, unknown to care, 
A change of exercise and air ; 
Observe the pert, the bold, the witty — 
How ditF'rent from his own sweet Betty ! 
lleturn impatient to his home. 
No husband, but a fond bridegfoom. 

Lastly, Eliza, let me say 
That wives should rather yield than sway ; 
To thwart a husband's fixt opinion 
Is not the way to gain dominion, 
For kisses order, tears reprove,* 
And teach us reverence, fear and love !-»— 
! born to soothe and guide the heart 
With native softness, void of art \ 
Thou, whom nor pride nor fashion sways, 
Unchang'd by flattery's giddy praise $ 
And thou to whom a tremulous vouth 
First spoke the tale of love and truth, 
Blending with passion's fond alarms 
The brightening beam of virtue's charms — » 

* Leurs o«dres sont des caresses, leurs menaces sont dea 
pleurs. RossEAu. 

L 2 



1S6 

Ah ! lend not now a careless ear !— 
Yet, yet attend to truth sincere ! 
These lines, at least with smiles receive, 
The last, perhaps, thy bard shall give. 

While pleasure spreads her gawdy train^ 
To lure the trifling and the vain ; 
While fashion kills the tedious day 
With shopping, concert, cards, and play ; 
While female love and youth^s fair charms 
Shrink from pure passion's ardent arms, 
And cling to splendour's fancied bliss, 
With withering age and wretchedness, 
Be thine Eliza, more reiin'd, 
The pleasures of the virtuous mind ! 
Be thine the transports of the heart 
Which love and gowdness still impart ; 
The tender glance, the tranquil smile^ 
A husband's sorrows to beguile : 
The blush of joy divinely meek; 
That paint's a mother's glowing cheek ; 
The balm that friendship still bestows;- 
The tear that drops for human woes ! 
These, these, Eliza! liglit the way, 
And cheer when other charms decay ; 
Conduct through care and worldly gloom^ 
And whisper joys — beyond the tomb. 



TO 

A YOUNG LADY, 

WITH A BOTTLE OF IRISH IJSQUEBAUCK. 

Sine Cerere et Bacclio friget Venus;, 



IN spite of all that poets tell us 

(For poets are but lyin^- fellows) 

Of Cupid's flames, and Cupid's darts. 

And all his soft bewitching arts, 

That teach the stubborn heart to move. 

And tune the rudest speech to love, 

I cannot say I recollect 

One single instance, proof, or fiict, 

Where freedom, wit, or common sense, 

Ei'ev flow'd from true love eloquence. 

For me (should love-sick qualms attack us), 

I've much more faith in honest Bacchus, 

And can't help thinking master Cupid 

Oft makes us mad ; but oftner stupid : 

At least, if one may judge from action, 

And looks thai border on distraction. 



1^8 

The man who really feels love's passion, 
Acts, speaks, and reasons — out of fashion, 
' This may be true/ I hear you cry, 
^ Yet bards, you say, can sometimes lie : 
And since you choose the present time 
To vent Against love your spleen, in rhyme, 
Produce your proofs, or cease to rail/ — 
With all my heart !— Fll tell a tale. 

When sprightly Daphne went a maying. 
And all the loves and graces playing 
Around her beauteous face were seen 
To deck the bloom of fair nineteen, 
Young Strephou met her on the green. 
Struck with her cliarms — to speak afraid, 
By love enthrall'd, by love dismay'd — 
The senseless Strephon (keep from laughter!) 
Had not the power to follow after ; 
But gaz'd, and gap'd, with transports swelling, 
Nor ask'd her name, nor mark'd her dwelling. 
Six months, six torturing months, and more, 
Did Strephon loud his loss deplore 5 
And often rang'd the fields in vain 
To find the lovely maid again ; 
And often curs'd his fluttering folly, 
And often groan'd with melancholy ; 
When Love and Fun one night agree, 
The youthful pair should meet at — tea. 



ISO 

Soon as our rapt'rous swain had ventur'd 
The parlour door to ope, and entered, 
And saw his Daphne's dazzling charms, 
He lost the power of legs and arms. 
His foot that whilom us'd to glide 
Along the floor with graceful slide, 
Now rudely strikes his tumbling cane, 
Which, trying to obtain again, 
His luckless skull salutes a chair. 
And fearful stands his injured hair ! — 
Behold now Strephon in his place. 
With ' blushing honours' on his face : 
The tea's to hand ; — he cannot fail 
To tread on harmless Tabby's tail : 
To ease her pain, puss squalls and kicks, 
And in his leg her talons sticks ; 
And tears the hose, and eke the skin, 
Till streams run down poor Strephon's shin 
Stung with the smart, I do assure ye 
He roar'd aud caper'd like a fury ; 
And in his gambols (dire mishap !) 
Dropt cup and tea in 'Daphne's lap. 

You loath the sot with liquor muddy^ 
Eyes all inflam'd, and face all ruddy \ 
Yet never once conclude with me 
That Strephon was as drunk as he ; 



130 

The man who speaks things out of season. 

Or acts as if bereft of reason, 

I must consider just as bad 

As he who's drunk, or he who's mad« 

^ Pray sir, a truce with moralizing, 

And answer this without disguising : 

Did Strephon e'er his flame discover?' 

No — never while a downright lover. 

In vain each night he frames with art 

Some speech to melt his Daphne's heart 5 

Whene'er he tries to ope his lips, 

Away ! each soft idea skips, 

And leaves him nought but hems and hahs. 

And stamm'rings to j&ll up each pause; 

And blushes, groans, and palpitation — 

(A. pretty kind of conversation !) 

^ What then ! did Strephon never win her ?' 

Never, till one blest day at dinner. 

^ At dinner say you !- — how — wlien — where ? 

How keenly curious women are ! 

I would be brief — I hate great talkers — 

You're so particular! — well!---at Walker's* 

One morning, Strephon asked to dine, 

To meet at four, to part at nine : 

The party clioice---for reasons shown him 

He went and drank his magnum bonum.f 

* A noted tavern in Edinburgh. 

t A. bottle of claret containing- two English quarts. 



iM 

Behold him now, a jovial boy ! 
No fluttering fears ! — no trembling joy ; 
And all his groans and blushes over, 
Mark how he breathes the ardent lover. 

Struck with amaze, sweet Daphne hears 
New accents reach her ravishM ears : 
^ And fairest of thy sex !' he cries 
(While passion sparkles in his eyes,) 
• O source of ev^-y chaste delight ! 
My thought by day; my dream by night ; 
My ev'ry hope ; m^ ev'ry care ; 
My joy ; my comfort ; my — despair : 
Ah ! wherefore should I still conceal 
•What all can feign, but few can feel !'* 
Since first these heav'nly charms were seen 
By luckless Strephon on the green ; 
Since first with smiles and spirits gay 
You hail'd the merry morn of May, 
What fluttering hopes have firM my brain I 
What fears of torture, doubts of pain ! 
What pangs, what sorrows, ne'er to find 
By speech, or look, my Daphne kind, 
But cold and senseless to my anguish, 
Still left a wretch to droop and languish V 
^ My God !' the wondering fair replies 
(While tears of rapture fill her eyes,) 

■* Cai'fc'.vriglit, 



13S 

^ How ! how could Daphne ever know 

Her Strephon's love ; her Strephon's w^oe ! | 

Till this soft tale, so sweetly sung! 

I never heard your tuneful tongue ; 

Till this fond hour, I never found 

These eyes but downcast on the ground ; — 

You still were silent, absent, cool : — 

I took you, Strephon, for — a fool.' 

Now Mira, that my tale is ended, 
I hope I've pvov'd what I intended, 
To wit, that without gen'rous wine 
A youth may sigh, and gi'oan, and whine, 
But never talk in strains divine. 
For what is love, or what is beauty. 
If lovers cannot do their duty ? 
Or what are flames, or inclination. 
Without the iire of inspiration I — 
All, all must end in strange confusion, 
Without the gift of elocution. 
For me, who never had much brass, 
I find vast courage in a glass ; 
And now that blushing's out of fashion, 
Or drink I must, or breathe no passion. 
And sure, if strains like mine have charm'd one 
When half-seas o'er there's no great harm done, 
And though last night, when first we met, 
You frown'd^ and fretted in a pet, 



133 

Withdrew your hand, with face averted, 
And thrice for me your chair deserted, 
Yet, warm'd by wine, I well remember, 
UnchilFd by looks, cold as December, 
I prattled wit from jovial quaffing, 
Till, quite overcome, at length, with laughing, 
You pardon smiFd ; and gen'rous hearted, 
Gave me your hand before we parted 5 
Nay, once delighted, almost swore 
I ne'er talked half so well before. 

Charm'd with the good effects of wine, 
I next day hurried to Gavine,* 
And straightway bought (ne marveille jpas !) 
A bottle of his Usquebaugh. 
Which now I send you, with this rule. 
That when I trifle like a fool. 
Or silent grow, or lose my temper. 
For God^s sake ! fill me up a bumper ! 
Till head, and heart, and tongue improve, 
And make me say whatever you love ! 

O could its virtue's but inspire 
This breast with true poetic fire, 
To sing, in numbers strong and clear. 
Thy friendship, ardent^ and sincere, 

* A famous distiller of liqueurs near Edinburgh. 
M 



134? 

Thy humour, sprightly, social; free, 

Thy temper's blest serenity ! 

O ! could its virtues but impart 

The language of thy feeling heart, 

To paint in accents sweetly mild 

The duties of a tender child ; 

And every art and virtue rare 

That sooths an aged father's care ; 

In faith ! dear Mira, to be plain, 

{Though much I dread your cold disdain) 

In spite of all you'd think or say, 

I'd drink till tipsy every day. 



THE WEE THING 



OH, 



MARY OF CASTLE.CARY. 



A BALLAD. 



• SAW ye my wee thing? saw ye mine ain thing? 

Saw ye my true love down on yon lea? 

Crossed she the meadow yestreen at the gloam- 
ing? 

Sought she the burnie whar flowers the haw 
tree ? 

Her hair it is lint-white^ her skin it is milk- 
white ; 
Hark is the blue o' her saft rolling ee ; 
Red, red her ripe lips ! and s\veeter than roses : 
Whar could my wee thing wander frae me ?' 



^ I saw nae your wee thing, I saw nae your ain 

thing, 
Nor saw I your true leve down by yon lea ; 



136 
But I met my bonny thing late in the gloara 

Down by the burnie whar flow'rs the haw tree. 

Her hair it was lint- white, her skin it was 

milk-white ; 
Dark was the blue o' her saft rolling ee ; 
Red ware her ripe lips, and sweeter than 

roses : 
Sweet ware the kisses that she gae to me !' 

^ It was nae my wee things it was nae my ain 

thing, 
it was nae my true love ye met by the tree : 
Proud is her leel heart ! modest her nature ! 
She never loo'd ony, till ance she looM me.^ 

^ Her name it is Mary; she's frae Castle-Cary ; 
Aft has she sat, when a bairn on my knee : — 
Fair as your face is, war't fifty times fairer, 
Young bragger, she ne'er would gie kisses to 
thee!' 

^It was then your Mary; she's frae Castle 

Cary ; 
It was then your true love I met by the tree : 
Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature, 
Sweet ware the kisses that slie gae to me»' 



137 

Sail' gloom M his dark brow, blood-red his 

cheek grew, 
Wild flashed the fire frae his red rolling ee! — 
' Ye's rue sair, this morning; your boasts and 

your scorning : 
Defend ye, fause traitor ! fu' loudly ye lie.^ 

' Awa wi^ beguiling/ cried the youth, smiling. 
Aff went the bonnet; the lint-white locks flee; 
The belted plaid facing, her white bosom shaw- 

Fair stood the lov'd maid wi^ the dark rolling 
ee! 

^ Is it my wee thing ! is it mine ain thing ! 

Is it my true love here that I see !' 

< Jamie, forgive me ; your heart's constant to 

me; 
I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae theeP 



M £ 



THE WHIP, 

on, 
A TOUCH AT THE TIMES. 

SENT TO MISS D. OF XINSTED, WITH A WHIP MADE 

or A rhinoceros's skin — 1784. 

Qu3£ fuerant vitia mores sunt. Seseca. 



ERE modest virtue lost her way 
Among the profligate and gay. 

Few modes were used for travel ; 
Unknown to whip, or spur, or boot, 
Each hardy Briton trudg'd on foot, 

Through mud, bog, dust and gravel. 

^Twas then the fair, as story tells, 
(Ah ! how unlike our modern belles !) 

Knew neither coach nor saddle ; 
No female Phaetonians then 
Surpassed the boldest of our men 

In gesture^ look, and straddle. 



139 

But form'd by nature's artless hand, 
Blushes, 'tis said, at her command 

Oft stole o'er beauty's features : 
No wife then scorn'd domestic sweets ; 
No daughter Jehu ! scour'd the streets ; 

Good lad ! what simple creatures ! 

Emerged at length from gothic rules, 
Our fair ones, trained in happier schools^ 

For blushes, now give fashion ; 
Each modest virtue thrown aside. 
Behold ! like men, erect, astride ! 

They drive ! they whip ! they dash on 

O ! may the glorious day arrive, 

When each bold lass her nag shall drive 

O'er hedges, gates, and ditches ! 
Despise the housewife's hateful lot, 
And change the useless petticoat 

For boots and buckskin breeches ! 

Yet hetei'ogeneous as they are, 

Half man — half woman — half centaur ; 

Some grave folks dread infection : 
See ! virtue trembling flies the land ! 
Alas ! 'gainst furious four in hand 

No common whip's protection ! 



14^0 

Struck with tlie thought^ I reasoned long, 
Eliza^ poor thing's far from strong, 

And yet she loves a canter ; 
= — Some fierce virago, high in blood 
May lay her sprawling in the mud, 

Or in a hedge-row plant her ! 

What then remains the weak to shield ? 
Must freedom thus her charter yield? — 

Has beauty no defender? 
— Alas ! no bosom swells with rage ! — 
There's nought in this bold dashing age, 

But flogging to befriend her ! 

Since lashing's then, the ton, the tip, 
And vict'ry now turns on the Whip, 

The toughest wliip should win ; 
And as we know in each hard bout, 
The ' toughest hide holds longest out/ 

ni find — a whip of skin.^ 

Pleased with the fancy, swift I sped, 
Mad with the project in my head, 

I rang'd half India o'er ; 
But hides well beat, are seldom tough : 
At last a bit of precious stuff 

I found on Afric's shore. 



^■. 



141 

There, by his streams and tangling groves^ 
The huge Rhinoceros careless roves, 

Though growls each savage nigh : 
Undaunted, arm\l with horn and hide, 
To ball and dart he turns his side, 

Unheeded as they fly. 

But what's the arm'd, the bold, the strong ! 
(Again we moralize our song,) 

If treacliery aims the blow ? 
Ev'n Samson fell by female wit, 
And see ! in subtle treachery's pit 

The mighty beast lies low. 

Thus falPn by cunning's sneaking plot, 
With joy they strip his horny coat ; 

('Twas wondrous to behold !) 
^By heavens ! I cried, ^at length I've found 
A skin that's proof 'gainst mortal wound ! 

'Tis worth its weight in gold [^ 

Torn from the side it lately grac'd, 
A slice I cut with eager haste ; 

A tough, tenacious slip ! 
And hurrying home to British land, 
Gave it to Kelly in the Strand,* 

Who forra'd it to a whip. 

* Whip maker to the Prince of Wales. 



14S 

Thus arm'd, with virtue on your side^ 
Unconquer'd reign, undaunted ride, 

Nor fear e'en Lade* or Archer.* 
Some dame indeed may whoop and crack, 
But let Rhinoceros touch her back, 

It will both blue and starch her. 

O, could its virtues but repair 
The lungs of thy half- winded mare. 

How great would be thy glory ! 
From Linsted town thy fame would trot 
E'en to the house of Johnny Grot, 

In many a marv'lous story. 

Then should we hear in clam'rous boast, 
How one young fair one rul'd the roast, 

As Pitt now rules the nation ; 
Made female jockies bounce and skip, 
And by the pow'r of one fam'd Whip, 

Fiogg'd vice from freedom's station ! 

But since, alas ! no cure wx know, 
Since Phillf must puff, or you move slow, 
Mark well a friend's direction. 

* Sir John Lade and Lady Archer, two of the most celebrated 
phaeton drivers in Eng^land. 

I Eliza's mare. 



143 

Hold fast the reigns of female pride, 
Wliip ev'ry coxcomb from your side^ 
To listen is — infection. 

Yet should the man, of worth possest, 
Fair candour glowing at his breast, 

Confess thy power of charms ; 
List to his tale, be frank, be kind 
Unfashion'd blush to love refin'd, 

And whip — into his arms ! 



TO 

MISS JEAN 

AND 

MISS ISABELLA MONRO, 

WITH TWO BOTTLES OF THE OTTA OT ROSES< 

TOST rudely round this whirling sphere^ ^^ 

Estranged from all he valued dear ; 

Shut out from beauty's brightening ray^; 

The social night, the tranquil day ; 

Involved in tumults wild uproar, 

And dropt on India's burning shore ; 

Behold a woe. worn wanderer roam, 

Far from his friends and native home ! 

^ Thus 'scap'd from storm and battles rage,^ 

Shall 1/ he cried, ^ new ills engage ! 

Shall I, by care and fortune crost. 

Droop sorrowing on a foreign coast ; 

And whelm'd at last in hopeless gloom, 

Sink unlamented to the tomb !' 

* Alluding to the last naval engagement between Sir Edward 
Hughes and M. SuflTvein in the East Indies, during which the aii-' 
%hor was on board his majesty's ship the Gibraltar. 



145 

'Perish the thought!' a seraph cries, 
(A seraph wafted from the skies.)* 
* Perish the thought! a softer ray 
Yet comes to guide thy vvilder'd way. 
What tliough rude mirth and tempests roar, 
And fortune frowning locks her store ; 
What though no converse reigns reiiu'd; 
And lov'd Miianda's left behind ; 
A brighter morn will yet appear, 
l^'o chase the gloom and gild the year: 
A milder dawn overspread the grove, 
A warmer theme attune to love ; 
When freedom's sun bright o'er the main 
Illumes fair Albion's cliffs again ; 
And glittering high on mountain hoar 
Proclaims afar lovM Scotia^s shore ; 
Where friendship waits in smiles array'd, 
To bind the wound that fate has made 5 
And sympathy, with melting eye. 
To catch the tale and heave the sigh ; 
And mild oblivion, kind to cast 
A darkening shade on sufferings past. 
'Meanwhile,' she said, 'this gift receive. 
And henceforth, wand'rer, cease to grieve ; 
For know, in this a virtue rare, 
(A passport likewise to the fair.) 

* See the author's address to the Scottish muse. 

N 



146 

Can cheer dejection^s languid gloom, 
And rich, to heauty yield perfume ! 
Guard then this treasure, and when fate 
Conducts thee safe, or soon or late, 
Where Fortha's wanderings gently glide 
Through fields that wave theii- cultural pride 
There, while again,, thou wander'st o'er 
Each dear lov'd spot, oft trod before : 
Or from Strevlina's height serene 
Survey'st around the pictured scene, 
Or view'st sublime her castled towers 

From A 's sheltering bowers 

Where social mirth wan care beguiles, 
Midst female virtues, female smiles ; 
While liope's fond joys past sorrows heal, 
Let breasts like thine fresh ardour feel, 
To mark each virtue as it springs. 
And as the muse impassioned sings. 
On maids of worth this gift bestow, 
^ *^^*^ 5 a ^*-*^^*^ ; a M ^^-***.' 

Charm'd wdth the tale, with sighs I prest 
The welcome treasure to my breast ; 
Here dwell, I cried, till fate once more 
Conducts me safe to Scotia's shore ! 
Till free from tumult's maddening strife, 
Once more I taste a poet's life ; 



147 

And female smiles to soothe and cheer. 
And love to cheat the lingering year : 
Here rest, I cried, till heav'n bestows 
Your ^****^s your ^*****'s,your M***^'st 

The seraph smiFd, and instant flew I 
The canvass spread, Eolus blew ! 
From India's shores and burning skies, 
O'er waves the Gibraltar flies. 
Blow, blow, ye breezes ! oft I said, 
While seas the lingering voyage delayed; 
Blow, blow, ye breezes ! oft I cried. 
While sleep her balmy rest denied : 
Yet midst my watchings, cares, and rest, 
Still clasp'd the treasure to my breast I 

Relieved from cares that lately spread 
A tempest round a wanderer's head, 
Arriv'd at length, where tumults cease, 
And all within is hope and peace. 
The warning seraph whispers low, 
*' Remember Worth, and each M*^*^ I' 

Go ! partner of ray throbbing heart I 
To gentler breasts thy balm impart ! 
Go! — to yon social bow'rs repair. 
Far softer forms thy sweets shall share ! 



148 

Go ! and while odours from thee break 

Round Jane or Bella's snov, y neck. 

Tell them from me, no sweets reiin'd 

Can match the tender female mind ; 

Nor Persia's rose^* that hlooms so fair, j 

With Virtue's charms can e'er compare, f 

No ! nor rich Ceylon's spicy gales, 

Nor fara'd Arabia's scented vales, 

A balm so grateful can diffuse, 

To wake and animate the muse, 

As that which shook from Friendship's wing^ 

Attunes the lyre's according string, 

And prompts e'en bards like me to sing ! 

* The otta \Yas made from the roses of Persia. 



GRANDEUR 



AN ODE. 



&5cpius ventis agitatur ingens 
Finns ; et celsse graviore casu 
Decidunt turres, feriuntque summos 
Fulmina montes Hor- 



HOW varied lies the chequer'd scene ! — 

DuNMAiT capt with snow ; 
While humbler smiles^ in vernal green^ 

The sun-clad vale below : 
Gay spring her cheering task performs^ 
Regardless of the wintry storms 

That sweep proud OchiPs lofty side ; 
And sheltered from the whirling gale^ 
Secure smooth glides the winding sail 

Down Forth^s meandering tide. 

Alas ! how like the ehequer'd state 

Of man's contrasted lot ! 
The storms that whirl round Grandeur's gate^ 

The peasant's shelter'd cot 5 

N % 



150 



Disdainful pride, with wintry brow^ 
Kougli labour, jocund at his plough, 

Still cheered by health's unclouded beam ; 
While safe from luxury's whelming tide 
Peace, hope, and resignation glide 

Down life's untroubled stream. 

To meditation's musing mind 

Still moral pictures rise : 
Ambition, dash'd by fortune's wind,. 

When tow'ring to the skies : 
Exalted beauty, doom'd to move 
In climes unwarm'd by genial love, 

Tost by the storms of sordid strife !— 
While nurtur'd in some vale obscure, 
The humbler fair one blooms secure 

The mistress and the wife' 

But late in strength and beauty's prime, 

The tow'ring Plane arose ; 
Proud, o'er Strevlina's height sublimq 

It wav'd its mantling boughs ! 
What time mild evening gilds her star, 
The trav'ller spy'd it from afar 

And, raptur'd wonderd where it grew ;— 
Fond fancy plac'd its magic height 
Mid regions streak'd with golden light 

Through Heav'ja's ethereal blue !— «^ 



i5i 

£mbosom\l in the bank below, 

That courts the southern breeze, 
The humbler Hawthorn's doom'd to blow^ 

Mid kindred shrubs and trees ! 
Obscure, its balmy sweets diffuse. 
Unmarked, save by the moral muse, 

That nightly breathes the rich perfume ! — » 
Ah ! what is Grandeur's splendid show ! — 
Ambition, mark ! — the Plane laid low !* 

The Hawthorn left to bloom. 

* The cutting down of this beautiful tree (a circumstance that 
l^ave gene ' dissatisfaction) occasioned the pr»^sciit od^. 



MAY-DAY; 

OR, 

THE DISCOVERY. 

A PASTORAL. 

Ill the manner of Cunningham, 



SEE ! rob'd in new beautieS; young May cheers 
the lawn ! 
Ye virgins ! how charming her air ! 
Haste ! cull her fresh flowerets dew-dropping 
at dawn^ 
And chaplets entwine for your hair ! 

Yes ! weave the gay garland ! each moment 
improve ! 

Youth's pleasures like Spring fleet away! — 
Life has its soft season — that season is Love. 

— Ah ! taste its fond joys while ^tis May. 

But lately I winded yon mountain's green 
side ; — 
How bless'd ! for Miranda was by 3 



153 

I marked as she welcom\l the Spring's open- 
ing pride 
The rapture that beam\l in her eye: 

Her favorite young lambkins ran bleating a- 
round, 
(Their fleeces were whiter than snow !) 
The cliffs crown*d with oakwood^ returned the 
soft sound ; 
The still lake gleam'd placid below. 

^ How happy!' she cried^ 'in some sheltered 
retreat 
With lambkins and flocks bleating nigh ; 
In my straw-coverM cottage^ though humble^ 
yet neat, 
I could live — and contented would die ! 

This oak- waving mountiin would ward win^ 
ter's blast ; 
Yon lake teach complaint to be still ; 
Healthy mirth, peace; and temperance, crown 
the repast, 
And freedom bound light o'er the hill!' 

A glance that escap'd the dear maid at the time 
Half whisper'd a wish was untold ; — 



154? 

^ And would my fair shepherdess deem it a crime ! 
If Edwin were guard to the fold V 

^I told my soft wishes/* she sweetly replied^ 
(Ye virgins ! her voice was divine !) 

^I've rich ones rejected, and great ones denied^ 
But take me, fond shepherd ! — Pm thine/ 

Her look was so artless ! her accent so mild ! 

Her candour so sweetly expressed ! 
I gaz'd on her beauties as blushing she smil'd, 

And clasp'd the lovM maid to my breast! — 

The primrose in clusters breath'd fragrance 
around, 
And witnessed the voWs that were given ; — 
The lark, that sat listening, soar'd swift from 
the ground 
And warbled the contract in — heaven ! 

Yon cottage where woodbines so fondly en- 
twine. 
We've chose for our humble retreat, 
Where Teath's soften'd murmurs raise raus^ 
ings divine, 
'Tis there my love's lambkins shall bleat ! 

* Cunningham's Content. 



155 

There friendship shall lure modest worth to 
our door, 
And shelter from care's wintry blast ; 
Content, deckM in smiles, spread her pastoral 
store, 
And Miranda prepare the repast ! — 

Thus fix'd, what imports it, ye great ones and 
vain, 

Though splendour withholds her false gleam 
If pleased with our little, and strangers to pain, 

Life glides placid by like yon stream ? 

While health, heavenly goddess ! smiles buxom 
and gay, 
Shall we murmur that wealth comes not nigh? 
When thy charms, IndejJendejice/ thus prompts 
the free lay, 
And the muse^ lark-like, soars to the sky I 



AN ELEGY 



On the sudden Death of a beautiful young Bot m Jamaica, at- 
tended by the singular occurrence of a Nightingale perching 
on the tree under which he was interred, and singing sweetly 
during the Funeral Service. 



WRITTEN IN JA^NtAICA IN 1788, 



RELENTLESS Death !-~ah ! why so soon 
Cut down the flow'ret fair to view ! 

Pale gleamed the light of yonder moon. 
When pest'lence shed her deadly dew !* 

The morn arose serene and clear^ 
The sun refulgent glow'd at noon ; 

But nought the drooping flower could cheer. 
Ah! wherefore droop'd the flower so soon! 

By yonder tree (his fav'rite sliade, 

Where late he joy'd with sports and play) 

They dig his grave ; there, lowly laid 
Sleeps Campbell^s silent senseless clav ! 



* He died of a pulrid sore throat, occasioned by unwholesome 
night damps. 



157 

Ah ! what avails the tear and sigh, 

That close, lov'd boy ! thy funeral gloom ! 

The doleful dirge, and frantic cry 

Of Afrie's mourners round thy tomb !* 

Ah ! what avails ! — But cease the strain ; 

Ye weeping parents, dry the tear. 
See ! Philomela joins the train. 

And chants a requiem o'er his bier. 

Sweetly she warbles, perch'd on high. 
Far from her mate and haunts of even ; 

She comes, an herald from the sky, 
To greet the cherub soul to heaven ! 

Yet here should pensive pilgrim stray 
At soft'ning eve, or fervent noon, 

Here may we heave the sigh and say, 

^Ah! wherefore droop'd the flower so soon!' 

, * In Jamaica it is customary on the death of a white person, 
for all the domestic negroes to attend the funeral. If the deceas- 
ed has been a particular favourite, it is usual for the female slaves 
to raise after the interment, a funeral song or dirge over the 
grave. This consists of loud and dismal lamentations, chiefly 
expressive of the good qualities of the deceased; such as, * O ray 
good massa!' * O my dear massa!' accompanied with clapping of 
hands, and violent gssticulations of sorrow. 







EPITAPH. 



SACRED TO THE MEMORY 



li 



JAMES GRAHAM, ESQ. 

LATE ©r THE PARISH OF WESTMORELAND, 

JAMAICA. 

IN TESTIMONY OE AFFECTION, 

AND AS A TRIBUTE TO THE VIRTUES OF THE 

BEST OF MEN, AND THE KINDEST OF BROTHERS, 

THIS MAUSOLEUM 

IS ERECTED Br 

JOHN GRAHAM, 

OF THREE MTI.E RIVER, 

JAMAICA. 
ANNO. 1798. 



ACCEPT, lov'd shade! of him whose breath- 
less clay 
No sigh returns to aiight that grief can say ; 
Accept, lovM shade ! this monument of woe : 
The last sad gift thy friend can now bestow ! — 



159 

For him, alas ! His left to raise the tomb ; 
Steal from the crowd and court sepulchral 

gloom ; 
Clasp to his heart thy cold untimely urn,* 
And weep thy virtues — never to return ! 
Nor can the muse (that muse thou lov'dst to 

hear) 
Repress the sigh, or check the starting tear ; 
From Britain^s shore ; across the Atlantic wave, 
She comes, to vent her sorrows at thy grave; 
With trembling hand inscribe thy funeral stone, 
And with a brother's woes record her own. 



* This amiable, honourable, and accomplished man, was un- 
fortunately killed in the mistaken defence of a character which 
no calumny could have injured; and by a ruffian whose slar.der 
no man of worth ought to have regarded. 



ON 

THE DEATH 

OF 

DAVID DOTG, LL. D. 

Master of the Gramnuw Schoot, 



HE'S gane !--he's gane ! — ah ! welladay ! 
The spirit's flown that warniM the clay ! 
The light has fled that cheer'd the way 

Through leai'^s mirk page ; 
Fir'd the young breast wV fancy^s ray. 



And charm'd the sage ! 



The sun has set that beam'd sae bright » 
Nae radiance shines on Strevlin's height- 
Nae star glints now wi' saften'd light 

On fancy's bower ! 
But dark and silent is the night 

In Doig's tower !* 

* The grammar school, erected on the castle hill of Stirling' 



i 



461 

In Doig^s toAver^ whar aft and lang 
The mingling notes o' learning rang ; 
And aft her favorite minstrel sang 5 

In varied key 5 
Wi' Horace saft ! wi' Homer strange 

Wi' Pindar hie ! 

In Doig's tower^ whar late and air 
Ilk bud o' genius blossomM fair ; 
Nurs'd by the fostering hand o' care, 

They sprang to view ; 
Burst into sweets, and far and near 

The fragrance flew ! 

He's gane ! — he's gane ! — Strevlina^ mourn ! 
Ah I drap the saut tear on his urn ! 
The light again will ne'er return 
That cheer'd ye a'; 
The fire that bleiz'd nae mair will burn 
* In yonder ha' ! 



O 2 



PROLOGUE: 

Written at the request of the Managers of the Pabllc Kitchen at 
Edinburgh, for the benefit of the Poor, 1800. 

WHEN discord first, with hate infuriate, hurl'd 
Tiieir baneful influence o^er a suffering world; 
Broke the firm bands of kindred joys asunder, 
And left in want the wretch to weep, and — 

wonder ; 
ThrilFd with despair; — unfriended, and op- 
pressed, 
With haggard eye, pale Poverty, distress^!, 
Roam'd the lone wild, a wretcl^ed life to save, 
And shivering sunk in Famine's darkening 

cave ! 
There, sad, she pin'd, and waiPd her hopelessr 

moan. 
Earth her damp pillow ! and her bed — cold 

stone, 
Till Charity (from Heaven's fair lineage 

sprung, 
Nymph of the melting heart and soothing 

tongue) 
Swift from yon starry vault^s ethereal blue. 
To want's dark cell w ith pitying ardour few ? 



463 

Cheer'd with celestial rays that chas'd the 

gloom^ 
The fainting mourner wak'd — as from the 

tomb; 
Saw the sweet harbinger of joy again 
Steal on soft tip- toe to the bed of pain ; 
O'er the cold breast her mantling vestments 

spread ; 
Wipe the damp brow, and raise the drooping 

head ; 
Pour the rich cordial, trickling to the heart ; 
Brace the lax fibre, and new strength impart; 
Kindle fond hope; and beckoning with a smile, 
Lure, while she flew to Britain'^ s fostering 

isle! 
To Britain's isle ! where, cherish'd by her 

care. 
The poor, if virtuouS;, never know despair : 
Warm'd by her beams, each bosom learns to 

glow, 
And throb, and feel — the sympathy of woe' 
From ocean's gen'rous sons (in fame enroll'd) 
To Scotia's mountains, and her patriot's bold ; 
Alike her magic power o'er land and wave : 
—The flame of pity ever warms the brave ! 
Oh ! could its light but harmonize the breast^ 
And guide again the jarring world to rest ! 



161^ 

Spread with mild radiance far from shore to 

shore, 
Till friendship binds, and discord's heard no 

more ! 
Till candour starts at reason's temperate call^ 
And mercy wafts humanity — to all ! 
This night, where charity's celestial flame 
Gilds in mild lustre Scotia's annal'd fame ; 
Beams in each conscious eye, and, heav'nly 

meek, 
Glows in soft blushes on each fair one's cheek; 
This night! indeed, would mock the powers 

of rhime ! 
And stamp an era for recording time ! 

Enough for us, who claim no higher care 
Than aid the wretched, and repel despair ; 
To light the lamp in poverty's dark cell, 
And lend new strength to those who — struggle 

well ; 
—Enough for us ! expiring worth to save, 
And cheer the path of virtue to the grave ! 



JACK AND NANCY. 

A SEA SONG. 

Air."— Bonny Lass will you lie in a barrack. 

! SAY, lovely Nan ! can you lie in a ham- 
mock ? 

When the mountain- waves rage, can you swing 
in a hammock ? 

As the winds roar aloft, and rude billows dash 
o'er us, 

Can my Nancy sleep soundly amid the wild 
chorus ? 

yes ! my dear Jack ! I can lie in a hammock, 
When the mountain-waves rage, can sleep 

sound in a hammock : 
Kude billows will rock me, when love smiles 

to cheer me. 
If thy slumber's sweet. Jack, no dangers can 

fear me ! 

But say, if, at night, the sad cry comes for 

wearing ; 
The breakers a-head, and the boatswain loud 

swearing ; 



166 

When the main-yard dips deep, and white bil- 
lows break o'er us ; 

Will my Nancy not shrink then amid the dread 
chorus ? 

O no ! my loved lad ! when such dangers are 
near me, 

My Jack's kindly whispers will sooth me — 
will cheer me, 

A kiss snatched in secret, amid the dread hor- 
ror, 

Will hush the rude chorus, and still every ter- 
ror. 

But say my sweet Nan! when the tempest's all 

smashing ! 
The top-sails all split, and the top-masts down 

crashing ! 
When all hands spring aloft, and no lover to 

cheer her. 
Will my Nancy not skrink when such dangers 

are n^ar her ? 

Ah no ! my loved Jack ! while the tempest's 

loud bawling. 
The top-sails all split, and the top-masts down 

falling, 



167 

I watching your dangetrs^ my own will pass 
over ! 

In prayers for your safety no fears I'll dis- 
cover .' 

But O ! my loved Nan ! when the ship is done 

clearing, 
The matches all lighted ; the French foe fast 

Hearings 
Can you stand to your gun, while pale death 

drops around you ? 
— 'Tis then ! my sweet Nancy ! new fears will 

confound you ! 

No ! No ! my dear Jack ! to these fears love's a 

stranger ! 
When you fight by ray side, I'll defy every 

danger ; 
On your fate my fond eye will be fixed while 

you're near me ; 
If you fall ! Nancy dies ! if you live^ love, will 

cheer me ! 

Come ! come then, sweet lass ' let us swing in 

a hammock ! 
While the mountain-seas dash round, sleep 

sound in a hammock ' 



168 

With love such as thine, who would dread war 

or weather? — 
While we live, we shall love 5 when we fall—' 

fall together ! 

*^* This verse (in singing) to be repeated by both at the same 
time, with the slight alteration of Substituting lad for lass by the 
female singer. 



THE 

LINKS O' FORTH; 

OR, A 

PARtlNG^ PEEP 

AT 

THE CARSE O' STERLING. 



He woo'd the muse, and sung the pensive strain ; 

He lov'd meek solitude, and soften'd gloom ; 

Sterling's Cambuscan, v. 304. 



TO THE READER. 



THE succeeding Poem was printed during the 
Author's absence abroad. The following Preface, 
explanatory of his motives for writing it, having been 
accidentally omitted, he now thinks it proper to sub- 
join it, for the information of the Reader. 

' The following production, the Author, pre- 
viously to his departure from Britain, leaves in the 
possession of a friend, careless of its future fate, al- 
though not insensible of its imperfections. Lest, how- 
ever, it may hereafter chance to meet the public eye, 
it may not be improper to observe, that, having, at 
an enrly period in life, written and injiidiclonsly pub- 
lished a poetical performance on the same subject^ 
Mliich a more mature judgment taught him to con- 
demn, he was desirous of substituting something in 
its stead, less exceptionable to good taste, and more 
characteristic of the scenes he has attempted to deli- 
neate. Should this be considered as an awkward 
apology for defects, let it be remembered, that the 
• Parting Peep at the Carse of Stirling' was executed 
under various disadvantages ; — that, while it was 
composed amidst the gloom of sickness and solitude, 
to mitigate distress, it received no fostering sunshine 
to cherish or to cheer ; — that it never met the eye of 
criticism, nor the kindly strictures of a friend ^ and 



172 

that wFiile it may, without a violation of metaphor, be 
called the offspring of pain and of pensivcncss, it was, 
amidst other trials, produced under the additional de- 
pression of leaving a country, to whicii the author h^s 
every reason to predict he never will return ! 

\Vith regard to the langiiage in which tiie present 
Poem is written (and fcr which perhaps an apology 
is likewise necessary) tlte author can only say, that 
he made choice of the Scottish dialect, not only on ac* 
count of its superior pretlcal pathos fanl simplicity to 
any other with which he is acquainted,^ but in his opi- 
nion, as the most appropriate to the scenes described, 
and particularly to tlie historical events he has ven- 
tured to introduce. Farther, he has nothing to say. 
Praise, should it ever come, will in all likelihood never 
reach his ear; and censure, after what has already 
been advanced in extenuation, must recoil on the im* 
feeling and fastidious,' 

Edinburgh, 
October, 1796, 



The following elegant lines were sent tathe Author by the inge- 
nious Writer of the Hindoo Rajah and Modern Philosophers* 
on reading- the Links o' Forth in Manuscript. 



YES ! I've perusM — with new, iiicreas'd de- 
light 
Have reperus'd, each simply flowing line ; 
Trac'd the known landscape bursting on the 
sight 
With all its varied hues and haunts divine ! 



Still (by tlie muse's faithful hand pourtrayM) 
Each long lost beauty meets my raptur'd 
eye ; 
Youth's former visions rise in ev'ry gale, 
While tears delicious mix with memory^s^ 
sigh. 

Say then^ my friend, can feelings warm as^ 
these 
Perform the critic's cold fastidious part ; 
Mark what perchance the pedant might dis» 
please, 
When nature's nameless charms attack Urn 
heart? 



174? 

For me^ I boast nor critic lore nor skill, 
Nor classic laws for measured numbers 
know ; 
Enough, to feel the bosom's raptur'd thrill, 
The tear that starts— the heart's spontaneous 
glow 1 

These ! these the muse's magic power attest! 

These! these the poet's excellence proclaim; 
And these, while truth and nature warm the 
breast, 
Shall deck Forth's artless bard with wreaths 
of fame. 

ELIZA HAMILTON. 



THE 



LINKS 0' FORTH. 



AH ! winding Forth. ! — smooth wandering tide ! 
O' Strevlin's peerless plain the pride ; 
How pleas'd alang thy verdant side, 

Whar flovveries springs 
The muse her untaught numhers tried, 

And learnt to sing ! 

Whan ardent youth, wi^ hoiling hlood. 
Ilk trace o' glowing passion loo'd, 
How aft aside thy silver flood, 

Unseen, alane, 
The bardin, rapt in pensive mood, 

Has pour'd the strain ! 

To beauteous Laura, aft an lang, 

His artless lyre he trembling Strang ;— 

Close to his beating heart it hang, 

While glen, and grove^ 
And erai^, and echoing valley, rang 

Wi' fervent love — - 



176 

Poor, fond enthusiast ! whither stray ? 
By wimpling burn or broomy brae ? 
Wasting; I ween, the live-lang day 

In am'rous rhime ? — 
The hour will come, thou'lt sigh, and say^ 

What loss o' time ! 

Yet, wharfore shouM nae youth engage 
In pleasures suited to its age ? 
To catch the tids o' life is sage. 

Some joys to save : 
Wha kens the fights he's doom'd to wage 

This side the grave ' 

To sport on fancy's flowery brink. 
And beek a wee in love's warm blink^ 
Is wiser far, I'm sure, than think 

O' distant harm. 
Whan eild and cauld indiifrence shrink, 

Frae pleasure's charm. 

Then strike, sweet muse, the trembling lyre, 
Ance mair do thou the sang inspire ; — 
Ah ! check nae yet the glowing fire, 

Though healtli divine, 
And youth, and pleasure's fond desire 

Fast, fast decline I 



177 

Attune the lay ! whan nature's charm 
Eirst seized his bosom fiutterin^- warm ; 
Ere care yet came, w' dread alarm, 

Or friendship's guile 5 
Or fortune^ wi' uplifted arm, 

And treach'rous smile. 

Attune the lay that should adorn 

Ilk verse descriptive o^ the morn ; 

Whan round Forth's Links o' waving corn;, 

At peep o' dawn 
Frae broomy know the whitening thorn 

He raptur'd ran : 

Or fragrant whar, at opening day, 
The whins bloom sweet on Aichil brae : 
There, whan inspired by lofty lay, 

He'd tak his flight ; 
And towering climb, wi' spirits gay, 

Demyit's^ height. 

O ! grandeur far than Windsor's brow ? 
And sweeter too the vale below ! 
Whar Forth's unrivall'd w^indings flow 

Through varied grain. 
Brightening, I ween, wi' glittering glow 

Strevlina's plain ! 

* One of the highest of the Ochil hills that bound the Carse 
of Siirling" to the east. 



178 

There raptured trace (enthron'd on hie) 
The landscape stretching on the ee 
Frae Grampian heights down to the sea, 

(A dazzling view !) 
Corn; meadow, mansion, water, tree. 

In varying hue — 

Owre lofty here, ilk charm to trace, 

That deck, sweet plain ! thy cultur'd face } 

Aft down the steep he'd tak a race, 

IS'or, rinning, flag. 
Till up he'd climb, wi' rapid pace 

Yon ^ abbey craig.' 

There seated, mark, wi' ardour keen, 

The skelloch* bright 'mang corn sae green, 

The purpled pea, and speckled bean ; 

A fragrant store I 
And vessels sailing, morn, and een, 

To ^ Stirling shore.' 

But aftner far, he'd late and air. 
To yonder castled heightf repair, 
Whar youth's gay sports, relax'd frae care, 
Cheat learning's toils, 

* The wild Mustard. 

t The castle hill of Stirling, from which the finest view of tli< 
Carse is seen. 



179 

And ijound her Doig's^ classic chair 
Fond genius smiles ! 

^Twas here, O Forth ! for luve o' thee, 
Frae wine, and mirth, and cards he'd flee ; 
Here too^ unskilFd, sweet Poesy ! 

He woo'd thy art — 
Alas ! nor skill nor guide had he, 

Save warmth o' heart ! 

Yet feckless as his numbers fell, 
Nae tongue his peacefu' joys can tell, 
Whan crooning quiet by himsel. 

He framed the lay 
On Rowland's whin-beflowered hill 

And rocky brae. 

How richly then the landscape glow'd 
As fast the welcome numbers flowM ! 
How smooth the plying bargief row'd 

Frae shore to shore ! 
How saft the kye in King's park'' low'd, 

At milking hour ! 

* Dr. David Dolg, master of the Grammar School, where he 
taught near forty years. A man whose uncommon erudition and 
genuis entitled to a higher station. 

t The abbey ferry boat. 



180 



And all ! how sweet the murmur rang 
Frae busy labour's rural thrang ! 
That sta' tlie upland heights amang' 

And echoing spread 
Owre CastlC;, Butts, and Knott,^ alang 

The Backwalk shade ; 

Dear, peacefu' scenes ! how sweet to sing! 
Whan youth and luve are on the wing ; 
Whan morn's fresh gales their fragrance bring; 

Wi' balmy sough, 
And evening paints (how green in spring!) 

The ^ braes o' Tough 1' 

But sweet, thro' a' the varying year 
Will Airthrie's banks and woods appear ; 
And crouse Craigforth, and princely Keir, 

That crowns the scene ; 
And Allan water, glittering near 

Its bleaching green. 

And Blair, half hid in Silvan shade, 
Where Taste and Home^ delighted stray'd 5 
What time ? whan Lare and Genius fled 
Frae bar and town^ 

* Henry Home, Lord Kames, one of the Senators of the Col- 
lege of Justice, and author of many ingenious and learned per- 
formances. 



181 

To Teatlrs clear stream, that babbling play'd 
By Castle Down — 

And Shaw-park, gilt wi' evening's ray ; 
And Embro's castle, distant grey ;* 
Wi' Alva, screened near Aichil brae, 

^Mang grove and bower I 
And rich Clackmannan, rising gay, 

Wi' woods and tower ; 

— These, aft he trac'd, fond nature's child ! 
But maist at e'ening blushing mild, 
As owre the western cliffs sae wild 

O' Lomond'sf height 
The sun in setting glory smiPd 

Wi' purple light ! 

'Twas then, by gloaming's sober hour, 

He'd court some solitude obscure ; 

Or round Cam'skenneth's:j: ancient tower, 

Whar winds Forth's stream* 
He'd wander, meditate, and pour 

This moral theme : — 

* Edinburgh castle, though distant 3» miles from Stirling, Is 
seen from the castle hill in a favourable day, 

f Ben Lomond, the highest of the Grampian mountains that 
bound the Carse of Stirling to the north-west. 

t The abbey of Cambuskenneth, founded by David I. king ff 
Scotland, anno 1147. 

Q 



18S 

^ How still and solemn steals the gloom 
Mild owre the garden^s fading bloom ! 
Dim flits the bat athwart the tomb, 

On leathern wing ; — 
— Hark ! what bemoaned the slaughtered doom 

O' Scotia's king? — 

^Twas but the dove that woos his mate, 
Unmindfu' o' the monarcli's fate : 
Whar, Grandeur, now tliy regal state? — 

Unmarkt ! — and gane ! 
Nor sculptured verse records thy date. 

Nor moss-grown-stane !' 

Yet regal pomp, and courtly show. 
Aft graced yon castle's'' princely brow. 
Whan Scotland's kings, wi' patriot glow, 

Delight'd woo'd 
Strevlina's fertile fields below. 

And winding flood ! 

Sublime retreat ! belov'd ! adrair'd ! 
Whase rural charms sae aft conspir-d 
To calm the raging breast, whan fir'd 

'Gainst lawless power^ 
And yield, mid social sweets retir d 

Life's happier hour ! 



183 

To sheathe in peace war's slaughterings word j 
To drap the king at friendship's board ; 
To draw frae luve's delicious hoard 

Her honey'd sweet ! 
And chain fierce valour's lofty lord 

At beauty's feet. 

Or join the chaee, at purple morn, 

Owre lawns, and heath-bloom'd mountains 

borne ; 
Wi' hound; and hawk, and bugle horn, 

And shouting thrang; 
While Sauchie's glens, beilower'd wi' thorn, 

The notes prolang ; 

Or break the lance, and couch the spear 
At tilts and tournaments o' weir, 
Whar mony a valiant knight and peer 

Bisplay'd their skill, 
To courtly beauty, blushing near, 

On Lady's hill. ^ 

Thus, tun'd to pastime's peacefu' string, 
Strevlina's craigs and valley^ I'ing? 
Blithe was tlie courtier and the king 

By Fortha's flood, 
TiU Faction soar'd on raven wing, 

Bedrapt wi' blood ! 



184 

Twas then ilk sport and rural charm 

Fled court, and plain, and cheerless farm!— 

Rebellion loud, \vi' dread alarm, 

Skreigh'd wild her cry, 
And murder dark, wi' daggered arm 

Stood watching by ! 

O Treason ! — rancorous, ruthless fae ! 
Bad source o' Scotland^s wars and wae ! 
Not guiltless power, liere chang'd to clay,^ 

Could calm thy strife, 
Xor ward thy boiling bloody fray 

And butchering knife! 

Alas! nor he,t whase youthfu' bloom^ 
Lang felt oppression's tyrant doom ; 
Though science, mid the captive gloom, 

And genius bright. 
And fancy, at her fairy loom 

Shot radiant light! — 

— Insatiate fiend ! could nought allay 
The rebel rage Against regal sway !— 

* James III. murdered in the vlllaj^e of Bannockburn, after the 
battle fought with his rebellious nobles, under the command ot 
the Duke of Rothsay> his own son. He was buried near the re- 
mains of his queen, in the abbey church of Cambuskenneth, 1483- 

t James I. of Scotland. See note e 



185 

Not Flodden-Fieldj whase fatal day 

Brought dool and care. 

Whan Scotland's Flowers were wed away,* 
To bloom nae mair. 

Nor Solway's heart-break, and disgrace,t 
Nor Mary'sf tears, nor beauteous face, 
Could stop, fell fae ! thy furious pace 

Bestain'd wF crime, 
Till Stuart's royal, luckless race ! 

Fled Scotia's clime. 

— Dark gloom'd the morn, owre land and sea^ 
Whan Scotia, sad, wi' tearfu' ee. 
Saw, frae her pine-wav'd cliffs on hie, 

And aiken bowers 
Her king, and independence flee 

Strevlina's towers ! 

Not sae the morn, that beaming shed 
A blaze round Wallace' helmed head, 
As bald in freedom's cause he led 
His patriot train, 

* Alluding to the beautiful and pathetic ballad of the 'Flow- 
ers of the Forest.' 

t James V. was so affected with the unfortunate and disgrace- 
ful affair at Solvvay Firth, near the river Esk, that he died a few 
days afterwards, literally of a broken heart. 

^ Mary Queen pf Scotland. 

Q 2 



180 

And dy'd these blood-drench'd furrows red 
WV hostile slain ! 

<Nor yet, O Bruce !* the morn that shone 
Bright, bright! whan (Edward's host ow'r- 

thrown) 
High, on yon proud hill' Standard Stone,t 

Thy banners flew 1 
While freedom, loud, in raptur'd tone 

Her clarion blew I 

- — Enchanting morn! whase magic reign 
Brak forging thraldom's galling chain ; 
Led Ceres, wi' her laughing train 

And go w den store 
Kound Bannockburn's ensanguined plain, 

And Carron's shore. 

Round ^ Carun's stream,' o' classic name, 
Whar Fingal fought, and ay ow'rcame ;{ 
Whar Ossian walk'd, wi' kindling iiame. 
His heav'n-taught lays, 

* King Robert the Bruce. 

t The stone where Bruce's standard was fixed during- the me- 
morable battle of Bannockburn. It may still be seen on an emi- 
nence near the village of St. Ninians, with a hole in the centre 
Tvhere the end of the standard was fixed, and thence named ' tlie 
bore stone.* 

i Vide the war of Caros, and the beautiful poem Comala. 



187 

And sang his Oscar^s deathless fame 
At Dunipaee !* 

— Names, gratefu' to the patriot's ear ! 
Which Scotia's sons delight to hear ! — 
Names, that the brave will lang revere 

Wi' valour's sigh ! 
— Dear to the Muse ! — but doubly dear 

To Liberty ? 

Thus, (blind to prudence' warning light) 
Aft sigh'd and sang the pensive wight- — ■ 
lleckless, alas ! o' fortune's blight, 

O warldly blame 
He'd muse, and dream, till dark midnight, 

Then daunder hame ! 



Ye flowering plains and winding stream ! 
Ye stately towers ! whar morn's first beam 
Mild glittering glints wi' gowden gleam ! 

Yours was the crime : 
Ye first entic'd his youth to dream 

In thriftless rbime - 

Fe first unlock'd the secret door 
That led to nature's varied store i 

* Vide the v/ar of Caros, and the beautiful poem Comala. ^ 



188 

And taught him early to adore 

Her tempting smile, 

Whether on India's pictured shore 
Or Britain's isle — 

Ye classic fields, whar valour bled ! 
Whar patriots strave, but never fled ! 
Ye plains, wi' smiling plenty clad, 

A lang adieu ! 
A darkening cloud wi' ills ow'rspread 

Obscures the view ' 

A warning voice, sad owre the main 

Cries, Haste ye! — haste! — break aff the strain 

Strevlina's towers and peerless plain 

Ye'U ne'er review ! — 
Bear haunts o' youth, and luve's saft pain, 

•5 last adieu/ 



NOTES. 

Note a, p. 170. 

' Any other with which he is acquainted,' 

IN support of this assertion some proof perhaps 
may be expected ; but as any dissertation on this subject 
may lead to an unwarrantable length, we shall extract 
the following very judicious remarks of an anonymous, 
though good critic, on some of the peculiar advantages 
of the Scottish language for subjects of poetry. 

* It contains a number of vocables peculiarly express- 
ed, and purely its own. Many of them are monosylla- 
bles, and yet they convey an extent and an energy of 
meaning, which most of the modern languages can but 
imperfectly collect, even by circumlocution. Its powers 
of termination, especially in diminutives and expressions 
of endearment, are far from being inconsiderable, and in 
many instances it appears to be little inferior to that of 
the Italian. It possesses a considerable portion of that 
rustic simplicity so much admired in the Doric dialect 
of the Greek, and not a little also of the smoothness of 
the Ionic. Like the former, it drops final consonants, 
substitutes one for another, and converts many of the 
vowels and diphthongs of English words into A and I; 
and, like the latter, it delights to thro.w out the conso- 
nants, to produce a concourse of vowels, to soften the 
sound, and promote the flow of those harsher terms 
which less easily combine in versification. It abounds 
in terms and phrases connected with domestic and so- 



190 

cial life; with rural scenery, sentiments and occupations, 
and hence is peculiarly fitted for pastoral poetry, the 
lighter ode, and the description of external nature. It 
surpasses in humourous representation, and is far from 
being unsuitable to the jDlaintive and the tender.' 



Note b, p. 179, 1. 19; and p. 180, 1. 5. 

♦ How saft the kye m King's Park low'd.' 
' Owre Castle, Butts, and Knott.* 

* Upon the south-west of the castle lies a large park, 
inclosed with a stone wall, called the King's Park, where 
the court used to divert themselves with hunting of the 
deer, kept in it. At the east end of the park lie the 
reyal gardens : vestiges of the walks and parterres, with 
a few stumps of fruit trees, are still visible — In the gar- 
dens is a mound of earth, in form of a table, called the 
king's knoit, with benches of earth round it, where, ac- 
cording to tradition, the court sometimes htld fetes cham- 
petres. Around the gardens, too, are vestiges of a canal, 
upon which the roy^ family and court used to divert 
themselves in pleasure boats.' Mmmo*s Hist, of Stirling- 
shire ^ p. 250, 251. 



Note c, 182, I. 14. 

* Aft grac'd yon castle's princely brow/ 

The castle of Stirling, on account of its beautiful situa- 
tion and delightful prospect, was the favourite residence 
of our Scottish kings, particularly of the James's — James 



191 

III. was so attached to it, that he built a palace, with an 
elegant chapel in it — To procure funds for the support 
of a dean, prebends, a numerous band of singers, musi- 
cians and other officers, he suppressed the priory of 
Coldingham, and endowed his chapel with the re^ ^nues: 
a circumstance which produced the rebellion that short- 
ly after occasioned the tragical death of that mild and 
•unfortunate monarch. See Henry's Hist, Great Britain^ 



Note d, p. 183, 1. 18, and 20. 

• On Lady's hill.* 
' Strevlina's craigs and valley ring/ 

In the castle hill is a hollow called the Valley, com- 
prehending about an acre of ground, and having all the 
appearance of an artificial work, which was used for tilts 
and tournaments, with other feats of chivalry; and close- 
ly adjoining to this valley upon the south, is a small 
rocky mount, rising in form of a pyramid, called the 
Ladies Hill, upon which the ladies of the court took 
their station to behold those exercises.' Mmmo's Hist, 
p. 252. 



Note e, p. 184, 1. 13. 

' Alas! nor he, whase youthfu' bloom.' 

« James I. of Scotland, was one of the most accom- 
plished and amiable princes that ever filled a throne. He 
was likewise one of the most unfortunate. After up- 



wards of 18 years captivity in England, and encounter- 
ing many difficulties on his return to his native king- 
dom, he was, in the prime of life, murdered by barba- 
rous assassins in the Carthusian monastery of Perth. 
In the monuments of genius, James has been almost 
equally unfortunate. No vestiges are now remaining of 
his skill in architecture, gardening, and painting, though 
we are well assured, by one who was well acquainted 
with him,* that in all these arts he excelled. Many of 
the productions of his pen have also perished; for he 
tells us himself t that he wrote much ; and we know of 
only three of his poems that are now extant, viz. Christ's 
Kirk on the Green, Peebles to the Play, and the King^s 
Quair, wiiich was lately discovered by Mr. Warton, and 
since published by William Tytler, of Woodhouselee, 
Esq.* ,ffe?i. Mist. * He was,' continues Henry, ' not 
only the most learned king, but one of the most learned 
men of the age in which he flourished ; and seems to 
have been born to excel in every art to which he applied 
his mind.* Independently of his other singular accom- 
plishments, James particularly excelled in music, not 
only as a performer, but a composer: and it is to his ad- 
mirable genius, that the musical world is so much in- 
debted for the invention (amidst the gloom of solitude 
and confinement) of that sweet and plaintive Scotch and 
Italian^ melody, which, as the above mentioned author, 

* Scotichron. lib. 16. cap. 30. 

I King's Quair, cant. I. stan, 13. 

t Alexandvo T«sjyo7u mentions James king of Scotland, havings 
of himself, invented a new kind of music, plaintive and melan- 
choly, different from all others, in which he was imitated by 
Carlo Gesualdo, prince of Venosa, who in our age (says Parsoni) 



193 

justly remarks, < has given pleasure to millions in every 
succeeding ag$.' 

has improved music with new and admirable inventions. As the 
prince of Venosa imitated king James, the other musicians of 
Italy imitated the prince of Venosa. ' The most noble Carlo Ge- 
sualdo, the prince of musicians in our age (says sir John Haw* 
kins, vol. iii. p. 212) introduced such a style of modulation, that 
other musicians yield the preference to him; and aU singers and 
players on stringed instruments, laying aside that of others, every 
where embraced his.* 



R 



SCOTLAND'S SCAITH, 

THE HISTORY O' WILL AND JEAN 

OWRE TEUE A TALE, 



So shall thy poverty come, as one that travelleth: and thy 
want as an armed man. ■■■•■■ Froy, 



TO 



DAVID DOIG, L.L.J). F.S.S.A. 



■MASTER OF THE GRAM-MAR SCHOOI, STIRLING, 



My Bear Sir, 

AFTER liaving taken one liberty with you, 
wliicli your indulgent friendship induced you to ex- 
cuse, you see I am determined to put your good na- 
ture to the test, by taking another. The harmless 
artifice of an author concealing himself, by ascribing 
liis work to tlie pen of a friend, is a species of literary 
fraud, which as it implies neither vanity nor ambi- 
tion, may he easily overlooked^ but to dedicate, with- 
out permission, a performance which has obtained 
uncommon proofs of public approbation, is a freedom, 
which, perhaps, hy the illiberal, might be imputed, 
not to an impulse of affection, but to a confidence of 
success. I trust, however, that you and I know one 
another too well, to require the formality of ceremo- 
ny to secure our friendship,* or labored apology to 
evince our motives of regard. It therefore, only rests 
with me at present, to inform the public, that by this 
address, my object is not to solicit a patron to what 
has already been so liberally patronized, but to com^ 
R 2 



* 198 

municate a fact which I cannot in justice prevail on 
myself to conceal ; namely, that without the kind in- 
terference, and friendly assistance of Dr. Doig, the 
poem of Scotland's Scaith, in all likelihood, would 
never have been published. 

My motives for having depicted, and yours in pub- 
lishing this too faithful portrait of modern depravity, 
were the same. Impressed with the baneful conse- 
quences inseparable from an inordinate use of ardent 
spirits among the lower orders of society, and anxious 
to contribute something that might at least tend to re- 
tard the contagion of so dangerous an evil; it was 
conceived in the ardor of philanthropy, that a natu- 
ral, pathetic story, in verse, calculated to enforce mo- 
ral truths, in the language of simplicity and passion, 
might probably interest the uncorrupted 5 and that a 
striking picture of the calamities incident to idle de- 
bauchery, contrasted with the blessings of industrious 
prosperity, might (although insufficient to reclaim 
abandoned vice) do something to strengthen and en- 
courage endangered virtue. Visionary a& these fond 
expectations may liave been, it is pleasing to cherish 
the idea; and if we may be allowed to draw favorable 
inferences, from tlie sale of ten thousand copies in the 
short space of five months, why should we despair of 
success? 

Having said so much on so trivial a subject, allow 
me, in conclusion, to add a few words to the person 
who has been thfe chief cause of the present publica- 



199 

lion. On this opportunity, I must confess, I am 
strongly tempted to say much; but the recollection of 
a modesty as remarkable as the genius and erudition 
of its possessor, restrains the fervor of friendship, and 
withholds the just tribute of applause. A more lively, 
and more pleasing recollection of virtues, which are 
superior to all that literature or talents can bestow, 
inclines m^, however, to think, that indifferent as you 
have long been, to the * obstreperous trump of fame,'' 
the ^ still small voice of gratitude' and esteem will not 
be unpleasant to your ear; and that you will believe 
me to be, without farther profession, 

My dear Sir, 

Your affectionate 

And most obedieift Servant, 

Edinburgh, I HECTOR MACNEILL. 

July, 1795, j 



WILL AND JEAN, 



PART h 



WHA was ance like Willie Gairlace^ 
Wlia in neeboring town or farm ? 

Beauty '8 bloom shone in bis fair face. 
Deadly strength was in his arm ! 

Wha wi' Will could rin, or wrastle ? 

Throw the sledge, or toss the bar? 
Hap what would, he stood a castle^ 

Or for safety, or for war : 

Warm his heart, and mild as manfu', 
Wi' the baiild he bauld could be ; 

But to friends wha had their handfu' 
Purse and service aye ware free. 

Whan he first saw Jeanie Miller, 
Wha wi^ Jeanie could compare ? — 

Thousands had mair braws and siller, 
But ware ony half sae fair? 



20S 

Saft her smile raise like May morning, 

Glinting owre Demait's* brow : 
Sweet! wi' opening charms adorning 

Strevlin'sf lovely plain below ! 

Kind and gentle was her nature ; 

At ilk place she bare the bell ; — 
Sic a bloom, and shape, and stature ! — 

But her look nae tongue can tell ! 

Sic was Jean, whan Will first mawing, 

Spied her on a thraward beast ; 
Flew like fire, and just when facing 

Kept her oi^ his manly breast. 

Light he bare her, pale as ashes, 
Cross the meadow, fragrant, green ! 

Plac'd her on the new-mawn rashes, 
Watching sad her opening een. 

Sic was Will, whan poor Jean fainting 

Drapt into a lover's arras ; 
Waken'd to his saft lamenting ; 

Sigh'd, and blush'd a thousand charms : 

* One of the Ochill Hills near Sterling- — Dan-ma-chit (Gaelic,) 
the hill of the good prospect. It is pronounced De-myit. 

f The ancient name of Stirling-. 



S03 

Soon they loo'd, and soon ware buckled ; 

Nane took time to think and rue- 
Youth and worth and beauty euppled ; 

Luve had never less to do. 

Three short years flew by fu' canty^, 
Jean and Will thought them but ane | 

Ilka day brought joy and plenty, 
Ilka year a dainty wean 5 

Will wrought sair, but aye with pleasure ; 

Jean the hale day span and sang; 
Will and weans her constant treasure, 

Blest wi' them nae day seem\l lang ; 

Trig her house, and oh ! to busk aye 
Ilk sweet bairn was a' her pride !— • 

But at this time news and whisky 
Sprang nae up at ilk road-side. 

Luckless was the hour whan Willie 

Hame returning frae the fair, 
Ow'r-took Tarn, a neebor billie, 

Sax miles frae their hame and maiv; 

dimmer's heat had lost its fury 5 
Calmly smiFd the sober e'en ; 



S04 

Lasses on the bleachfield hurry 
Skelping bare-fit owre the green ; 

Labour rang wP laugh a^d clatter;^ 

Canty Hairst was just begun, 
And on mountain, tree, and water 

Glinted saft the setting sun. 

Will and Tarn wi' hearts a' lowpin 
Mark'd the hale, but could nae bide ; 

Far frae hame, nae time for stoppin, 
Baith wished for their ain fire side s 

On they travelled warm and drouthy, 
Cracking owre the news in town ; 

The mair they crack'd, the mair ilk youthy 
PrayM for drink tcS^^wash news down. 

Fortune, whai but seldom listens 
To poor merit's modest prayer ; 

And on fools heaps needless blessins, 
Harken'd to our drouthy pair ; 

Id a howm, wha's bonnie burnie 
Whlmperin rowM its crystal flood, 

Near the road, whar trav'Uers turn aye, 
Neat and bield a cot- house stood ; 



White the wa's, wi' roof new theekit, 
Window broads just painted red ; 

Lown 'mang trees and braes it reckit^ 
Haflins seen and haflins hid 5 

Up the gavel end thick spreading 

Crap the clasping ivy green. 
Back owre, firs the high craigs cleading^ 

Rais'd a^ round a cozy screen ; 

Down below, a flowery meadow 

Join\l the burnie's rambling line; — - 

Here it was, that Howe the Widow 
This sam day set up her sign. 

Brattling down the brae, and near its 
Bottom, Will first marvelin sees 

• Porter, Ale, and British Spirits,^ 
Painted bright between twa trees. 

» Godsake ! Tam, here's walth for drinking ; 

Wha can this new comer be ?' 
-Hoot! quo' Tarn, there's drouth in thinking; 

Let's in. Will, and syne we'll see.' 

Nae mair time they took to speak or 
Think 0' ought but reaming jugs ; 

S 



^06 

Till three times in humming liquor 
Ilk had deeply laid his lugs. 

Slocken'd now, refresh'd and talking. 
In came Meg (weel skilPd to please) 

^ Sirs ! ye're surely tyr'd wi' walking ; — 
Ye maun taste my bread and cheese.' 

^ Thanks, quo' Will ; — I canna tarry, 
Pick mirk night is setting in, 

Jean, poor thing's ! her lane and eery — 
I maun to the road and rin.' 

Hoot! quo' Tarn, what's a' the hurry? 

Hame's now scarce a mile o' gaet — >■ 
Come ! sit down — Jean winna wearie : 

Lord ! I'm sure it's no sae late ! 

Will, o'ercome wi' Tam's oration, 
Bwth fell to and ate their fill — 

^Tam !' quo' Will, ^in mere discretion. 
We maun hae the Widow's gill.' 

After ae gill cam anither — - 

Meg sat cracking 'tween them twa, 
Bang ! cam in Mat Smith and's brither* 

Geordie Brown and Sandie Shaw, 



^07 

Neebors wha ne'er thought to meet here, 
Now sat down wi' double glee, 

Ilka gill grew sweet and sweeter! — 
Will gat hame Hween twa and three. 

Jean, poor thing ! had lang been greetin ; 

Will, neist morning, blam'd Tarn Lowes^ 
But ere lang, an owkly meetin 

Was set up at Maggie Howe's. 



^SV or PART I, 



PART IL 



MAIST things liae a sraa' beginnin, 
But wtia kens how things will end ? 

Owkly clubs are nae great sinniu, 
Gin folk hae enough to spend. 

But nae man o' sober thinkin 

E'er will say that things can thrive; 

if there's spent in owkly drinkin 
Wha keeps wife and weans alivec 

Drink maun aye hae conversation, 

Ilka social soul allows ; 
But, in this reformin nation, 

Wha can speak without the news ? 

News, first meant for state physicians, 
Deeply skill'd in courtly drugs ; 

Now whan a' are politicians, 
Just to set folks by the lugs. 

Maggie's club, wha could get nae light 
On some things that should be clear, 



209 

Found ere lang the fau't, and ae night 
Clubb'd and gat the Gazetteer.^ 

Twice a week to Maggie's cot-house^ 
Swith ] by post the papers fled ! 

Thoughts spring up like plants in hot-house, 
Every time the news are read. 

Ilk ane's wiser than anither, — 

^ Things are no ga'en right/ quo' Tarn, 

*^Let us aftener meet thegither; 

Twice a owk's no worth a d n.' 

See them now in grave convention 
To mak a' things ' square and even ;' 

Or at least wi' firm intention 

To drink sax nights out o' seven. 

Mid this sitting up and drinkin^ 

Gratherin a' the news that fell ; 
Will, wha was nae yet past thinking, 

Had some battles wi' himsell. 

On ae hand, drink's deadly poison 
Bare ilk firm resolve awa ; 



* The Edlnbur.e^h Gazetteer, a violent opposition paper, pub« 
iished in 1793-4. 

s s 



On the ither, Jean's condition 
Rave his very heart in twa. 

Weel he saw her sraother'd sorrow ! 

Weel he saw her bleaching cheek ! 
MarkM the smile she strave to borrow, 

Whan, poor thing, she could nae speak ! 

Jean, at first, took little heed o' 
Owkly clubs mang three or four, 

Thought, kind soul ! that Will had need o' 
Heartsome hours whan wark was owre. 

But whan now that nightly meetings 
Sat and drank frae sax till twa ; 

Whan she fand (hat hard-earn'd gettings 
Now on drink ware thrown awa; 

Saw her Will, wha anee sae cheerie 
Raise ilk morning wi' the lark, 

Now grown mauehless, dowf and sweer aye 
To look near his farm or wark ; 

Saw him tyne his manly spirit, 
Healthy bloom, and sprightly ee ; 

And o' luve and hame grown wearit, 
Nightly frae his family flee ; 



211 

Wha could blame her hearths complaining? 

Wlia condemn her sorrows meek? 
Or the tears that now ilk e'ening 

Bleach'd her lately crimson\l cheek ! 

Will, wha lang had rued and swither'd 
(Aye asham'd o' past disgrace) 

Mark'd the roses as they withered 
Fast on Jeanie's lovely face ! 

MarkM, — and felt wi' inward rackin 
A^ the wyte lay wi' himsel, — 

Swore neist night he'd mak a breaking— 
D n'd the club and news to hell ! 

But alas ! whan habit's rooted, 

Few hae pith the root to pu' ; 
WilPs resolves were aye nonsuited, 

Promis'd aye, but aye gat fou : 

Aye at first at the convening 
Moralized on what was right, — 

Yet on clavcrs entertaining 

Doz'd and drank till brade day light. 

Things at length draw near an ending, 
Cash rins out 5 Jean quite unhappy 



21S 

Sees that Will is now past mending, 
Tynes a' hearty and taks a — drappy If 

Ilka drink deserves a poesy ; 

Port maks men rude, claret civil ; 
Beer maks Britons stout and rosy, 

Whisky maks ilk wife — a devil. 

Jean, wha lately bare affliction 
Wi' sae meek and mild an air, 

SchooVd by whisky, learns new tricks soon, 
Flyts, and storms, and rugs Will's hair. 

Jean, sae late the tenderest mither, 
Fond o' ilk dear dauted wean ! 

Now, heart hardened a' thegither, 

Skelps them round frae morn till e'en. 

Jean, wha vogie, loo'd to busk aye 
In her harae-spun, thrifty wark ; 



f The author cannot refrain from seising the last opportunity 
he may ever have to caution his female readers ag-ainst the vice 
here inteniionally inlroduced. Women are not sufficiently aware 
of the danger annexed to the smallest indulgence in spirituous 
liquors. A delicate frame, or a susceptible mind experiencing' 
a teniporary relief from a pernicious stimulus, has recourse to it 
at a time when the best cordials are fortitude and resignation. 
Hence the deplorable habit of dram-drinking — a habit, the most 
disgusting — the most degrading to tUe female character ! 



213 

Now sells a* her braws for whisky 
To her last gown, coat, and sark ! 

Robin Burns, in mony a ditty, 
Loudly sings in whisky's praise ; 

Sweet his sang ! — the mair's the pity 
E'er on it he war'd sic lays, 

0' a' the ills poor Caledonia 

E'er yet pree'd, or e'er will taste, 

Brew'd in hell's black Panderaonia, 
Whisky's ill will scaith her maist ! 

^ Wha -was ance like Willie Gairlace ? 

Wha in neeboring town or farm ? 
Beauty's bloom shone in his fair face. 

Deadly strength was in his arm ! 

' Whan he first saw Jeanie Miller, 
Wha wi' Jeanie could compare? 

Thousands had mair braws and siller, 
But ware ony half sae fair?' 

See them now — how chang'd wi' drinking ! 

A' their youth fu' beauty gane ! — 
Daver'd, doited, daiz'd and blinking. 

Worn to perfect skin and bane! 



S14 

In the cauld month o' November, 
(Claise, and cash, and credit out) 

Cowring owre a dying ember, 
Wi^ ilk face as white's a clout ; 

Bond and bill, and debts a' stoppit, 
nka sheaf selt on the bent ; 

Cattle, beds, and blankets roupit 
Now to pay the laird his rent 

No anither night to lodge here ! 

No a friend their cause to plead ! 
He ta'en on to be a sodger. 

She wi' weans to beg her bread ! 

^O' a* the ills poor Caledonia 
E'er yet pree'd, or e'er will taste, 

Brew'd in hell's black Pandemonia, 
Whisky's ill will seaith her maist 1' 



THE WAES 0^ WAR: 

en 

THE UPSHOT 

OF THE 

HISTORY 0' WILL AND JEAN, 

IN I'OUR PARTS. 



— — —Felices ter et ampllus 
•^uos ad versa docet Sors sapientiam. Boetk 

Thrice happy pair 
Wha wit frae luckiess Fortune lear ! 



THE WAES 0' WAR. 



PART I. 

OH ! that folk wad weel consider 

What it is to tyne a^ — name, 
What this warld is a' thegither^ 

If bereft o' honest fame ! 

Poortith ne'er can bring dishonour ; 

Hardship's ne'er breed sorrow's smart, 
If bright conscience taks upon her 

To shed sunskine round the heart : 

But wi' a' that vvalth can borrow, 
Guilty shame will ay look down ; 

What maun then shame, want, and sorrow 
Wandering sad frae town to town ! 

Jeanie Miller, ance sae ch eerie ! 

Ance sae happy, good and fair. 
Left by Will, neist morning drearie 

Taks the road o' black despair! 
T 



^18 

Cauld the blast ! — the day was sleeting % 
Pouch and purse without a plack ! 

In ilk hand a bainiie greeting, 
And the third tied on her back. 

Wan her face ! and lean and haggard ! 

Ance sae sonsy ! ance sae sweet ! 
What a change ! — unhoused and beggar'd^ 

Starving without claise or meat ! 

Far frae ilk kent spot she wandered, 

Skulking like a guilty thief; 
Here and there, uncertain, daunder'd; 

Stupified wi' shame and grief: 

But soon shame for bygane errors 
Fled owre fast for ee to trace, 

Whan grim death, wi' a' his terrors 
Cam owre ilk sweet bairnie's face ! 

Spent wi' toil, and cauld and hunger, 
Baith down drapt ! and down Jean sat ! 

Dais'd and doited' now nae langer; 
Thought — and felt — and bursting grat. 

Gloaming, fast wi^ mirky shadow 
Crap owre distant hill and plain ; 



ai9 

Darkeu'd wooil^ and glen, and meadow^ 
Adding fearfu^ thoughts to pain ! 

Round and round, in wild distraction, 

Jeanie turn'd her tearfu' ee ! 
Round and round for some protection !— 

Face nor house she could na see 1 

Dark, and darker grew the night aye ; 

Loud and sair the cauld winds thud I— 
Jean now: spied a sma hit lightie 

Blinking through a distant wood : 

Up wi' frantic haste she started ; 

Cauld, nor fear, she felt nae raair ; 
Hope, for ae bright moment, darted 

Through the gloom o' dark despair ! 

Fast owre fallowed lea she brattled ; 

Deep she wade through bog and burn ; 
Sair wi' steep and craig she battled, 

Till she reach'd the hop'd sojourn. 

Proud, ^mang scenes o' simple nature. 
Stately auld, a mansion stood 

On a bank, wha's sylvan feature 
SmiFd out-owre the roaring flood: 



Simmer herC; in varied beauty 
Late her flowery mantle spread 

Whar auld chesnut^ ake and yew-tree, 
Mingling, lent their friendly shade : 



Blasted now wi' winter's ravage ; 

A' their gaudy livery cast 5 
Wood and glen, in wailings savage^ 

Sugh and howl to ilka blast ! 



Darkness stalk'd wi' fancy's terror ;-j- 
Mountains mov'd, and castle rock'd ! 

Jean, half dead wi' toil and horror, 
Reached the door, and loudly knock'd, 

^ Wha this rudely wakes the sleeping?' 
Cried a voice wi' angry grane ; — 

'Help! oh help! quo' Jeanie, weeping, 
' Help my infants, or they're gane ! 

Nipt wV cauld ! — wi' hunger fainting! 

Baith lie speechless on the lea ! 
* Help !' quo' Jeanie, loud lamenting, 

'Help my lammies ! or they'll die 1" 

^ Wha's this travels cauld and hungry, 
Wi' young bairns sae late at e'en ? 



221 

Beggars !' eried the voice, mair angry, 
^Beggars ! wi' their brats, I ween.' 

^Beggars now, alas ! wha lately 
Helpt the beggar and the poor!' 

^Fye ! guderaan !' cried ane discreetly, 
^ Taunt nae poortith at our door.' 

Sic a night, and tale thegither, 

Plead for mair than anger's din : — 

^Rise, Jock!' cried the pitying mither, 
^Rise! and let the wretched in.' 

^Beggars now, alas ! wha lately 
Helpt the beggar and the poor !' 

'^ Enter!' quo' the youth fu' sweetly, 
While up flew the open door. 

^Beggar, or what else, sad mourner! 

Enter without fear or dread ; 
Here, thank God ! there's aye a corner 

To defend the houseless head ! 

For your bairnies cease repining ; 

If in life, ye'll see them soon.' — 
Aif he flew ; and brightly shining 

Through the dark clouds brak the moon. 
T 2 



PART 11. 



HERE, for ae night's kind protection^ 
X<ea\e we Jean and weans a while ; 

Tracing Will in ilk direction^ 
Far frae Britain's fostering isle! 

Far frae scenes of saftening pleasure, 
Love's delights and beauty's charms I 

Far frae friendship's social leisure, — 
Plung'd in murdering war's alarms I 

Is it nature, vice, or folly, 

Or ambition's feverish brain, 
That sae aft wi' melancholy 

Turns, sweet Peace ! thy joys to pain ? 

Strips thee o' thy robes o' ermin, 
(Emblems o' thy spotless life) 

And in war's grim look alarmin 
Arms thee wi' the murd'rers knife ! 

A' thy gentle mind upharrow s ! 
Hate, revenge, and rage uprears ! 



223 

AdcI for hope and joy — twin marrows, 
Leaves the mourner drownM in tears ! 

Willie Gairlace, without siller, 
Credit, claise, or ought beside, 

Leaves his ance loo'd Jeanie Miller, 
And sweet bairns to warld wide ! 

Leaves his native cozy dwell in. 

Sheltered haughs, and briken braes ; 

Greenswaird hows, and dainty mealin, 
Ance his profit, pride and praise 1 

Deckt wi" scarlet, sword, and musket 
Drunk wi' dreams as fause as vain ; 

Fleetcii'd and flatter'd, roos'd and buskit, 
Wow ! but Will w as wondrous fain ! 

llaitling, roaring, swearing, drinking; 

How could thought her station keep ? 
Drams and drumming (faes to thinking) 

Doz'd reflection fast asleep. 

But whan midst o' toils and dangers, 
Wi' the cauld ground for his bed. 

Compassed round wi' faes and strangers^ 
Soon Will's dream-s o' fancy fled,^ 



2^4 

Led to battle's blood-tly'd-banners; 

Waving to the widow's moan ! 
Will saw glory's boasted honours 

End in life's expiring groan ! 

Hound Valenciennes' strong waa'd city 
Thick owre Dunkirk's fatal plain, 

Will (tho' dauntless) saw wi' pity 
Britain's valiant sons lie slain I 

Fir'd by freedom's burning fever, 

Gallia strack death's slaughtering knell 

Frae the Scheld to Rhine's deep river, 
Britons fought^ — but Britons fell ! 

Fell unaided ! though cemented 

By the faith o' friendship's laws; — 

Fell unpity'd — unlamented ! 
Bluiding in a thankless cause !^ 

In the thrang o' comrades deeing, 
Fighting foremost o' them a' ; 

Swith ! fate's winged ball cam fleeing, 
And took Willie's leg awa' : — 

Thrice frae aff the ground he started. 
Thrice, to stand, he strave in vain ; 

• Alluding to the conduct of the Dutch- 



225 

Thrice, as faiuting strength departed, 
Sigh'd — and sank ^mang heaps o' slain. 

On a cart wi' comrades bluiding. 
Stiff wi' gore, and cauld as clay ; 

Without cover, bed or bedding. 

Five lang nights Will Gairlaee lay ! 

In a sick -house, damp and narrow^, 
(Left behint wi' hundreds mair) 

See Will neist, in pain and sorrow, 
Wasting on a bed o' care. 

Wounds, and pain, and burning fever, 
Doctors cur'd wi' healing art ; — 

Cur'd ! alas ! but never ! never ! 
Cool'd the fever at his heart! 



For whan a' ware sound and sleeping. 
Still and on, baith ear' and late. 

Will in briny grief lay steeping, 
Mourning owre his hapless fate ! 



A' his gowden prospects vanish'd ! — 
A' his dreams o' warlike fame ! — 

A' his glittering phantoms banish'd ! 
Will could think o' nought but — hame ! 



S26 

Think o' nought but rural quiet^ 
Rural labour ! rural ploys ! 

Far frae carnage, bluid, and riot, 
War, aud a' its murdering joys. 



PART 111. 



BACK to Britain's fertile garden 
WilPs returned (exchanged for faes), 

Wi' ae legj and no ae farden, 
Friend or credit, meat or claise. 

Lang through county, burgh, and city, 
Crippling on a wooden leg, 

Gathering alms frae melting pity; 
See ! poor Gairlace forc'd to beg ! 

Plac'd at length on Chelsea's bounty, 
Now to langer beg thinks shame. 

Dreams ance mair o' smiling plenty ;— - 
Dreams d' former joys, and hame ? 

Hame ! and a' its fond attractions 
Fast to WilPs warm bosom flee : 



While the thoughts o' dear connexions 
Swell his heart and blind his ee — 

^ Monster ! vvha could leave neglected 
Three sma' infants, and a wife, 

BTaked —starving — unprotected ! 
Them, too, dearer ance than life •' 

Villain ! wha wi' graceless folly 
Ruin'd her he ought to save ! — 

Changed her joys to melancholy, 
Beggary, and — perhaps, a grave !' 

Starting ! — wi' remorse distracted, — 
CrushVl wi' grief's increasing load, 

Up he bang'd ; and sair afflicted. 
Sad and silent took the road • 

Sometimes briskly, sometimes flaggin, 
Sometimes helpit, Will gat forth ; 

On a cart, or in a waggon, 
Hirpling ay towards the north. 

Tir'd ae e-ening, stepping hooly, 
Pondering on his thraward fate, 

In the bonny month o' July, 
Willie, heedless, tint his gate. 



g28 

Saft, the soutblan breeze was blawing. 
Sweetly sugb'd the green ake WQod ! 

Loud the din o' streams fast fa'ing, 
Strak the ear wP thunderin thud ! 

Ewes and lambs on braes ran bleeting ; 

Linties sang on ilka tree ; 
Frae the wast^ the sun, near setting, 

Flam'd on Roslin's towers* sae hie • 

E-oslin's towers ! and braes sae bonny ! 

Graigs and water, woods and glen ! 
Roslin's banks ! unpeer'd by ony 

Save the muses' Hawthornden If 

Uka sound and charm delighting j 

Will (tho' hardly fit to gang) 
Wander'd on through scenes inviting, 

Listening to the mavis' sang. 

Faint at length, the day fast closing. 

On a fragrant straeberry steep, 
Esk's sweet stream to rest composing, 

Wearied nature drapt asleep. 

* Roslin Castle. 

f The ancient seat of the celebrated poet, wnilam Priim- 
sTiOnd, who flourished in 1585- 



229 

• Soldier^ rise ! — the dews o' e'ening 

Gathering fa', wi' deadly scaith ! 
Wounded soldier ! if complaining, 

Sleep nae here and catch your death- 
Traveller, waken ! — night advancing 

Cleads wi' grey the neeboring hill ! — 
Lambs nae mair on knows are dancing — 

A' the woods are mute and still !' 

' What hae 1/ cried Willie, waking, 
^What hae I frae night to dree'? — 

Morn, thro' clouds in splendor breaking, 
Lights nae bright'ning hope to me! 

House, nor hame, nor farm, nor stedding! 

Wife nor bairns hae I to see ! 
House, nor hame, nor bed, nor bedding— 

What hae I frae night to dree ?^ 

*' Sair, alas ! and sad and many 
Are the ills poor mortals sharft ! — - 

Yet, tho' hame nor bed ye hae nae, 
Yield nae, soldier, to despair ! 

What's this life, sae wae and wearie. 
If Hope's bright'ning beams should fail ! 

U 



S30 

See ! — tho' night comes dark and eerie, 
Yon sma' cot-light cheers the dale ? 

There, tho' walth and waste ne'er riot 
Humhler joys their comforts shed, 

Labour — health — content and quiet ! 
Mourner ! there je'U find a bed. 

Wife ! 'tis true, \vi' bairnies smiling, 
» There, alas ! ye needna seek — 
Yet their bairns, ilk wae beguiling, 
Faint wi* smiles a mither's cheek ! 

A' her earthly pride and pleasure 
Left to cheer her widow* d lot ! 

A' her warldly walth and treasure 
To adorn her lanely cot I 

Cheer, then, soldier ! 'midst affliction 
Bright'ning joys will aften shine ; 

Virtue aye claims Heaven's protections- 
Trust to Providence divine I* 



PART IV. 



SWEET as liosebank's^ woods and river 
Cool whan simmer's sunbeams dart, 

Cam ilk word, and cool'd the fever 
That lang brunt at Willie's heart. 

Silent stept he on, poor fallow ? 

Listening to his guide before, 
Ov/re green know, and flowery hallow, 

Till they roach'd the cot-house door. 

Laigh it was ; yet sweet, tho' humble ! 

Deckt wi' hinnysuckle round ; 
Clear below, Esk's water's rumble. 

Deep glens murmuring back the sound. 

Melville'^ towers,t sae white and stately, 

Dim by gloamin glint to view ; 
Thro' Lasswade's dark woods keek sweotly 

Skies sae red, and lift sac blue ! 

* Rosebank near Roslin ; the author's place of nativity, 
t Melville's Caslle, ^>- --^/ oi' the Right Honorable Uenry 
Dandas 



232 

Entering now, in transport mingle 
Mither fond, and happy wean, 

Smiling round a canty ingle 
Bleising on a clean hearth-stane. 

^ Soldier, welcome ! — come, be cheery ! 

Here ye\se rest, and tak your bed — 
Faint, — waes me ! ye seem, and weary, 

Pale's your cheek, sae lately red V 

^Chang-d I am,^ sigb'd Willie till her; 

^ChangMj nae doubt, as chang'd can be ! 
Yet, alas ! does Jeanie Miller 

Nought o' Willie Gairlace see V 

Hae ye markt the dews o' morning 

Glittering in tlie sunny ray, 
Quickly fa', when without warning 

Rough blasts cam, and shook the spray r 

Hae ye seen the bird fast fleeing 

Drap, whan pierc'd by death mair fleet ? 

Then, see Jean, wi' colour dicing 
Senseless drap at Willie's feet ! 

After three lang years affliction 
(A' their waes now hush'd to rest,) 



233 

Jean ance mair, in fond affection, 
Clasps her Willie to her breast. 

Tells him a' her sad — sad sufferings I 
How she wander'd, starving poor 

Gleaning pity's scanty offerings 
Wi' three bairns frae door to door ! 

How she serv'd — and toil'd — and fever'd^ 
Lost her health, and syne her bread 5 

How that grief, whan scarce recovered, 
Took her brain, and turn'd her head ! 

How she wanderM round the county 
Mony a live-lang night her lane ! 

Till at last an angel's bounty 
Brought her senses back again : 

Gae her meat — and claise — and siller ; 

Gae her bairnies wark and lear ; 
Lastly, gae this cot-honse till her, 

Wi' four sterling pounds a year.' 

Willie, barkening, wip'd his ein aye ; 

' Oh ! what sins hae I to rue ! 
But say, wha's this angel, Jeanie ?' 

<Wha,' quo' Jeanie, ^but — Buceleugh!^ 

* The Dutchess of Buccleugh, the unwearied patroness and 
supporter af the afflicted and the poor> 



S34 

Here, supported, cheer'd, and cherisliM, 
Nine blest months, Fve livM, and mair 5 

Seen these infants clad and noiirish^l ; 
Dried my tears ; and tint despair ; 

Sometimes serving, sometimes spinning, 
Light the lanesome hours gae round ; 

Lightly, too, ilk €]uarter rinning 
Brings yon angel's helping pound !' 

^ Eight pounds mair,^ cried Willie, fondly, 
^ Eight pounds mair will do nae harm ! 

And, O Jean ! gin friends ware kindly, 
Eight pounds soon might stock a farm. 

There, ance mair, to thrive by plewin. 
Freed frae a' that peace destroys. 

Idle waste and drunken ruin ! 
War and a' its murdering joys !^ 

Thrice he kiss'd his lang lost treasure ! 

Thrice ilk bairn ; but cou'dna speak : 
Tears o' luve, and hope, and pleasure 

Streamed in silence down his cheek ! 



TO C. L. ESQ. 



WITH A PRESENT OF A LARGE BOTTLE OE OLD 
JAMAICA RUM. 



DEAR honest hearted, canty Charlie ! 

To whom Fd trust baith late and earlie ; 

Accept, in token o* regard, 

Frae rhyming Mac, your friend and bard, 

A gift to raise on Sunday's even 

Your mind frae earthly thoughts to lieaven ; 

Or what's far mair, to keep frae quaking 

Thy graceless saul for Sunday-breaking, 

As reckless ay o' prayer or kirk 

Ye ply your sinfu' wark till mirk, 

Grunting owre deeds o' black rascality 

In Session Courts and Admiralty ; 

Till tir'd o' horning and meniorial, 

Ye turn frae tricks to things corporeal ; 

For lang law draughts, take ane that's shorter, 

(I mean a draught o' Skae's good porter;) 

For desperate debts and pleas unlucky, 

Sit down and carve your roasted chucky, 

And helping round ilk friend and cousin 

That mak; at least, a round half dozen, 



236 

Wi' crack — aud joke — and steeve rum toddy, 
Lord ! but ye turn a dainty body ! 

Now Charles, without a Sunday's blessing, 
Wi' a' your want o' Sunday's dressing 5 
Wi' hair uukaim'd, and beard unshorn, 
And slip-shod bachles, auld, and torn. 
Coat, that nae decent man wad put on, 
And waistcoat aft without a button. 
And breeks (let sans culottes defend them) 
I hope in God, ye'll change, or — mend them. 
I say, wi' a' these black transgressions, 
(The fruits o' your curst courts and sessions) 
There's yet sic sparks o' grace about you ; 
Sic radiant truth that shines throughout you ; 
Sic friendship firm ; — sic qualms o' honour 
Whan sneaking rascals mak you sconner. 
That ('pon my faith ! I canna help it. 
Though for't ilk time I should be skelpit) 
I find a secret, inward greeting 
O' peace at ilka Sunday meeting; 
And feel — ye hash, wi' sl your duds on, 
For you attractions like a loadstone ; 
That warm the heart wi' glows diviner 
Than e'er I find for chiels that's finer. 

Come, Charlie, then, my friend and brither i 
Whan neist wi' a' convene thegither 



S37 

To crack and joke in converse happy, 

r faith ! w'se hae a hearty drappy 5 

And though I dinna like to buckle 

Wi' hours owre late, or drink owre miickle^ 

Kor think it a' thegither right 

To keep folk up on Sunday night, 

I am resolv'd, be't right or sinfu' ;' 

To hae at least — a decent skinfu' ;' 

Wi' heart and hand keep friendship waking 

And trust to heaven for Sunday -breaking. 

And sure, if bounteous heaven tak pleasure 

In harmless mirth, and social leisure, 

And grant us aye the power to borrow 

Somer thoughtless hours to banish sorrow, 

To crack, and laugh, and drink, nae sin is 

Wi' modest worth and Jeanie I s ; 

After Sunday's feast — or pascal 
Wi' you, ye kirkless canty rascal. 

Mind then, whan honest trusty Peter^- 
(Aboon a' praise in prose or metre) 
Removes ilk dish, whar late, fu' dainty, 
Stood roasted hen, and collops plenty ; 
And roddickins, and penches too. 
And mussels picked nice wi' broo ; 
And baddies caller at last cartings 
Or rizzer'd sweet by Mrs. Martin ! 

* An old man servant. 



238 

' — W kipper (brander'd het and broun) 
A present sent frae Stirling town. 
I say, when Pate wi' solemn face, 
Removes ilk thing wi' steddy pace, 
And brings the reeking burn and bowl 
To cheer ilk presbyterian soul ;* 
Whan ance that ye, a' fidging fain 
Draw the first cork wi' mony a grane, 
And sometimes girning, sometimes blawin, 
Examine gin its rightly drawn. 
Whan three times round the port wine passes 
And ilka friend has drank three glasses ; 
Nae langer grane, nor fyke, nor daidle, 
But brandish ye the — langshank^d ladle. 
That magic wand that has the knack ay 
To mak us a' sae pleas'd and cracky ; 
That Moses' rod that weets ilk mouthie 
And maks streams gush for hearts that's 

drowthie, 
And has the double power, sae curious ! 
To mak some chiels baith pleas'd and furious! 

Now, as I've heard some hair-brain'd hempy 
Growl whan your chajppin bottle's empty, ^ 
And roar, and swear, wi' aiths that's sinfu' 
For what's ay ca'd — ^ anither spoonfu" ;' 

* The Sunday supper was called the Presbyterian supper, 
t The usual modicum. 



To satisfy sic maws rapacious, 

I herewi' send o' size capacious 

A bottle prim'd, my dainty callan, 

Somewliat mair than half a gallon 

O' precious gear, I've lang been huntin, 

Till caught at last frae Wattie Br n. 

Fill then .'—and drink/ — and banish dread 
O' after sair wame, or sair head ; 
There's naithing here, our hams to daver, 
But rare auld stuff to mak us claver ; 
For hear I swear in rhyming letter, 
D n me ! if e'er ye tasted better ' 



TO 

THE MEMBERS 

OF 

THE SOBER SOCIETY; 

SENT TO THE SAME WITH AN ENGRAVIXG.* 



DEAR sober emptyers o» the glass ! 
Behold your goddess — wife or lass, 

De'il hae me giu I ken ; 
But weel I wat gin a' be true 
That here she speaks, ye select few 

Are unco kind o' men 

To me (as frankly in a crack 
The ither night the jillet spak 

Right cheery owre a glass.) 



* This engraving had been at some period thrown off for the 
use of a Literarrj Society in London, likewise called the Sober 
Soci£TT. The representation was a female figure with the fin. 
ger of one hand pointing to tlie moon (horned) and six stars 
over-head; and the finger of the other hand pointing to the 
ground with this mottQ^-TtVifM? tandem Vicebat. 



2U 

Though hid frae unpoetic brain, 
These hieroglyphics speak as plain 

As e'er did Balaam's ass. 

Ilk sober brither sure has seen 
The moon and seven stars at e'en 

Glittering in spangled heaven 5 
What mean then sax P — the meaning's clear. 
Through a' your meetings in the year 

Ye're fou sax times in seven. 

Yet mair — by yonder horned moon^ 
Its clear ye're a' hornmad as soon 

As clocks Beate fix ;* 
Sweet, sweet the sounding warning comes ! 
And sitting down on stubborn bums 

Ye a' turn — lunatics. 

O ! then, 'tis said, in canty croon, 
A writer chiel ca'd Livingston 

Wif crack and snuff grows cheery ; 



* One of the rules of the Sober Club was, that the bill should 
be called and paid at eleven o'clock; after which hour every one 
might do as he inclined; i. e. retire or remain as long as he chose ; 
and as this last liberty was generally productive of sober happi' 
ness, it was called the Beate. 

X 



And dealing round strong punch and joke^ 
Good-humour'd mad near twa o'clock 

Turns a' things tapsilteery! 

Here wad I stap, nor langer keek 
Into thae soberings ilka week, 

And hide what I'm no able 5 

But yon d 'd fingers — up and down, 

Proclaim whan some are in the moon, 

Some lie aneth the table. 

In these bless'd French perverted days,^ 
Whan virtue's blam'd and vice gets praise, 

And folk wi' words are sae bit, 
Nae wonder sober stands fovfoUy 
And drinkers roar out while they spew, 

^Virtus tandem Vicebat/ 

* These lines was written during the commencement of Robes- 
piere's reign of justice, virtue, and hutnaniti/. 



THE 

ROSE O' KIRTLE 

A BALLAD. 



IN Roslin's bowers bloom fragrant floWers^ 

On Yarrow's banks they're raony ; 

Whar Kirtle* flows ance stately rose 

The sweetest flower o' ony 1 

I've travelled east, I've travelled west, 

I've been 'niang groves o' myrtle ; 

Tho' flowers bloomed fair, nane could compare 

Wi' the sweet Rose o' Kirtle. 

In secret glade it raised its liead, 
And fair its leaves spread blooming ! 
And as they spread, they fragrance slied 
A' Kirtle's banks perfuming ! 
Lured by its fame, the young anes came 
(Some came frae west the Shannon) 
And ilk ane swore, nae flower before 
Bloomed like the rose o' Annan. — 

* A small, beautiful stream, in Annandale. 



But wise aues knew a death-worra grew 

Deep at its roots consuming; 

And while they sigh'd, they mournfii' cried^ 

^The rose will fade that^s blooming!^ 

'Twas then Fate said, ' frae native glade 

We'll pu' the pride o^ Kirtle ; 

In warmer bower we'll plant the flower^ 

And skreen it round wi' myrtle.' 

Sae, Fate updrew the flower, and flew 
Where Mersey's''' stream runs flowing; 
There, skreen'd frae harm, they plant it warm, 
For there love's beams were glowing ! 
Fair, fair it spread ! and gratefu' shed 
Its healing balms, sweet smelling ! 
And as they flew, affliction knew 
Blest health was near his dwelling. 

Oh ! had ye been where I hae seen 
This rose 'mang myrtles blooming. 
Ye wad hae sworn nae canker worm 
Was fast its roots consuming : — 
But, welladay ! looks will betray! 
And death love's joys will sever ! 
Ere midnight hour, death nipt the flower ! 
Its sweets are — gane for ever ! 

* The River that runs past Liverpool 



2^5 

Ye, wha can smile at Life's fause guile, 
While health's warm sun shines beamy, 
Learn, that the flower o' Mersey's bower 
Was Lucy's peerless Jemmie ; 
And ye wha mourn at Currie's urn,* 
Or weep by Mersey's river, 
Learn, that the rose that virtue blows, 
Though dead, will — bloom for ever. 

* Dr. .James Cuvrie, late of Liverpool, 



X 2 



TO 



HOBERT GRAHAM, ESQ 



GARTMORE5 

On hearing he had praised one of the Author's Poems, and writ- 
ten the following elegant Lines on a copy sent to Miss Bucua- 
NAX, of Leny.* 

WHILE strains like these beguile a wande- 
rer's care. 
And fancy's smile unfetters fortune's frown^ 
Oft will reflection doubt with anxious air 
If e'er one sprig this wand'rer's bead shall 
crown. 



Teathf heard the strain, and heard the youth. 
As round her verdant meads he stray'd. 

Still boast his Lauha and his iruth. 
Regardless of her fuv'rite maid; 

And as he wove a chaplet gay. 

And ev'ry flow'ret cull'd with care, 

She snatch'd the rosy wreath away^ 
And twin'd it round Buchatvax's hair 



t The river Teath near Leny 



247 

• And O ! she cried, whatever his breast may 
fire, 

Whether of love or patriot zeal he sings, 
Ne'er may ambition prompt the low desire 

To feed on flatt'ry wheresoever it springs. 

Yet should the voice of taste and sense refin'd 
Applaud what some may love, and all may 
hear; 

And bursting from an elegance of mind 
Steal sweetly grateful on a poet's ear ; 

Welcome ! the meed to fire the coming muse 
And add fresh ardour to the patriot strain ! 

Nor virtue blush, nor modesty refuse 

To gather flow'rs at truth's unspotted fane!' 

Fame heard the prayer, and pointing to the 
days, 
Deep in yon tablet grav'd no vulgar name ; 
'Behold!' she cried! ^the bard who yields his 
praise/ 
The wand'rer doubting gaz'd, and found it 
— Graham, 



ON THE DEATH 



Lieut. Gen. SIR RALPH ABERCROMBY. 



Killed at the Battle of Alexandria, in Egypt, March 21, 1801. 



FROM carnag'd fields bedreneli'd with gore^ 
How long must Pity shrink with pain; 

Turn, shuddering pale, from shore to shore, 
And weep her patriot heroes slain ! 

Touch'd at her tears that streaming flow 
(Just tribute to the good and brave) 

Britannia, wrapt in sable woe, 

Bend o'er her Abercromby's grave. 

• And could not age,' she sorrowing crieS; 

^From blood protect thy final doom? 
Gild thy last eve with milder skies, 

And lay thee gently in tlie tomb ?' 

Roek'd in the cradle of alarms, 
Nurs'd in the school where glory's wod; 



M9 

Rejoicing in the din of arms, 

Soon Valour hail'd her darling son : 

Foresaw the bright, the guiding beam 
That led to Honour's splendid goal 5 

Saw, flashM round Pompey's Pillar, gleam 
The parting light'nings of his soul ! 

Yet, in the warrior's dauntless breast 
Fond Hope with mellowing pencil drew ; 

Pourtray'd the scene when laurel'd rest, 
In peace, enjoys the fav'rite few ! 

Vain dream ! — with war's indignant frown 
Fame twin'd the cypress with the bay ;— 

< Be this,' she cried, ^ the laural crown 
To deck my hero's parting day ! 

Sunk in the shade of still repose, 

Unhonour'd drop the valiant dead ; — 

Bright as his day shall beam the close — - 
He dies in Glory's patriot bed !' 

^ He lives ! Britannia warm replies, 
As high the trophied urn she rears ; 

^He lives in Virtue's bursting sighs. 
His Country's praise ! — his Country's 

TEARS !' 



OS 



Mmiral LOKD NELSON^S 



Sending in the hour of Victory, a Flag- of Truce to stop the fur- 
ther effusion of blood, in the memorable Naval Engagement off 
Copenhagen, April 2d, 1801. 



AGAIN the tide of rapture swells ; 

Britannia sees new trophies rise 5 
Again the trump of victory tells 

That with the brave compassion lies! 

In vain the carnage of the field ! 

In vain the conquest of the main ! 
The brave may bleed — the brave may yietd^ 

^Tis Mercy binds the brave again ! 

True to the dictates of the heart 
That melts to pity's godlike glow^ 

Humanity arrests the dart, 

Half wing'd, to lay the vanquished low 5 

Swift through the battle^s thundering storm ; 
See ! deck'd in smiles she takes her stand ;, 



251 

Assumes her Nelson^s fav'rite form^ 
She lifts her aegis o^er the land ! 

Struck with the radiance of her shield, 
Returning Friendship warms the Dane ! — - 

The brave may fight ! — the brave may yield f 
Mercy unites the brave again. 



SONGS. 



TO THE READER, 



THE following small collection of Scottish Songs 
lias, during the author's hours of relaxation, furnish- 
ed occasional amusement for a number of years back. 
As they were the fii'st attempt he made to compose in 
the Scottish dialect, and as the success of some of 
them was the cause of his succeeding productions in 
that language, they seem to have some claim to pre- 
servation. 

Occupied frequently in the execution of what inte- 
rests and amuses, the mind naturally turns to a con- 
sideration of the specific qualities, or distinguisliing 
excellencies of the art that affords pleasure. The 
characteristic nature of our old Scottish sona:s and 



to"- 



hallads, led tlic author to a serious consideration of 
their poetical and lyrical effect^ influenced by their 
peculiar charms, he was induced to make some feeble 
attempts at imitation. — Although he was conscious of 
his inability, he however flattered himself that he had 
at least discovered the cause of his failure ; and while 
unable to produce attractions, which, for such a length 
of time, have captivated the minds of millions, con- 
soled himself with the reflection, that what had sur- 
passed his powers, originated from circumstances 
which had prevented so many more from succeeding 



S56 

in this delicate and beautiful species of composition. 
TThat occurred to him on tiiis subject, he will now 
freely lay before the public. As his remarks are but 
few, and these short, he need make no apology for 
trespassing on the time of his reader ; and as they 
may possibly lead to farth.er investigation, and to the 
improvement of song writing, they may be received 
with indulgence. 

Lyrical couiposition has furnished subject for a va- 
riety of treatises by men of distinguished talents and 
erudition; and yet (if the author mistakes not) the 
essential requisites, or particular qualities necessary 
for this species of writing, iiave not hitherto been suf- 
ficiently defined. In all our most admired songs a,nd 
ballads, the distinguishing qualities are, ijassion, deli- 
caajf and humour, expressed in a sim})licity of lan- 
guage tri:e to nature, and unfettered by the fastidi- 
ousness of art. It necessarily follows, tliat without 
the possession of similar qualities in the composer, it 
is next to impossible that he can be successful. Ten- 
dernesSf or the passion of love, as it is not only tlie 
most prevalent, but the most attractive, holds the 
first place in this species of writing ; but as the pas- 
sion is vivid, so must the language be that expresses it. 
Sentimental love, therefore, or that species of ama- 
tory language involved in accompanying sentiment 
and reflection, is not tlie right road to the heart. 
The attack must be instantaneous, and in the fewest 
words possible, or the influence will be unfelt. Hence 
the powerful effect of our old pathetic songs and bal- 



357 

lads, abrupt in their transitions, and forcible in their 
passionate touches ; and hence tlie languid insipidity 
of our modern sentimental madrigals, that operate 
like a lullaby. It likewise occurs to the author, that, 
without a strong natural predilection for music » and 
a mind fully susceptible of its charms, it is unlikely 
that any poet, however eminent for other qualities, 
can be successful in song writing. There is so close 
an union between these sister arts, that to separate 
them in the present instance, is like the separation of 
mind from body. A plaintive, a tender, or a lively 
air, operating forcibly on a true musical mind, produces 
wonderful effects on poetic composition^ but indepen- 
dently of tliis influence, a poet, of real musical taste 
and feeling, is necessarily, and indeed insensibly, led 
by the particular cadences and expressive passages 
in an air, to apply corresponding words and senti- 
ments. If there be any truth in this remark, the im- 
propriety of composing airs to words, instead of 
words to airs, must be obvious. 

The nature of the present subject might authorise 
the author to say something of those modern writers 
who have devoted a considerable portion of their time 
to lyrical composition, and furnished the public with 
a number of their productions^ but as this might pos- 
sibly give oifence to some, and be considered invidi- 
ous, he lias conceived it proper to avoid the subject. 
A comparative view of their respective merits and 
defects, might throw additional light on the essential 
requisites of song writing, and tend to illustrate the 



258 

cursory remarks thrown out in the present short es- 
say. It may, however, be safely asserted, that the 
principal defects in most of our modern lyrical com- 
positions, are a want of passion, particularly ten- 
derness, and a want of simplicity. This must pro- 
ceed either from a deficiency of natural sensibility 
and taste in the writers, or from a w ant of due atten- 
tion to the nature of the music for which they have 
composed words. — The uncommon excellence of our 
passionate Scottish airs furnishes such excitements 
to the various emotions of the human heart, that no 
other cause can be assigned for a deficiency of cor- 
responding passion in the words that accompany 
them. Exclusively of this, our lyrical poets in the 
Scottish dialect have nothing to plead in their behalf 
from any defect in the language in which they write, 
since jione can supply a greater number or variety of 
appropriate terms and epithets of endearment to ex- 
press the language of love, not only with the utmost 
tenderness, but with the greatest delicacy. It may 
likewise be observed (now that w^e are on the sub- 
ject,) that it is also highly favourable to the humour- 
ous. It abounds in phrases, epithets, and proverbial 
sayings, peculiarly calculated to excite risibility; and, 
in addition to this advantage, our Scots songs of hu- 
mour admit of a free adoption of provincialisms and 
phraseology, which, in subjects of more dignity, 
would be offensively yulgar, but which, in the present 
instance, give an additional zest and poignancy to 
ludicrous composition. In thi3 last walk, a late ad~ 
mired writer * excels all his cotemporaries^ and 

* Burns. 



259 

stands unrivalled; but, in support of our preceding 
opinions, let it be remembered, that this poet possess- 
ed true native humour, and was at all times alive to 
its influence. 

These observations, the author, with the utmost 
candour, gives to the public, merely with the view to 
improve a species of writing highly interesting and 
grateful to national taste and feeling. After what 
has already been premised, it is almost unnecessary 
for him to remark, that they have no reference what- 
ever to the trifles that immediately follow, nor indeed 
to any thing in these volumes. 

December, 1805. 



THE LAMMIE. 



AiH. — Name Unknown. 

• WHAR hae ye been a' day, my boy Tammy? 

Whar hae ye been a' day, my boy Tammy?' 
^Pve been by butn and flowery brae, 

Meadow green, and mountain grey, 
Courting o' this young thing, 

Just come frae her mammy.' 

^ And whar gat ye that young thing, 

My boy Tammy ?' 
*I gat her down in yonder how. 

Smiling on a broomy know, 
Herding ae wee lamb and ewe 

For her poor mammy.' 

' What said ye to the bonie bairn. 

My boy Tammy ?' 
' I prais'd her een, sae lovely blue. 

Her dimpled cheek, and cherry mou ; — 
I pree'd it aft as ye may true ! — 

She said, she'd tell her mammy. 



2Q2 

I held her to my beating heart, 
My young;, my smiling Lammie I 

^ I hae a house, it cost me dear, 
Fve walth o' plenishen and geer ; 

Ye'se get it a' war't ten times mair, 
Gin ye will leave your mammy.' 

The smile gade aff her bonie face — 
^ I maun nae leave my mammy ; 

She's gi'en me meat, she's gi'en me claise. 
She's been my comfort a' my days : — 

My father's death brought mony waes — 
I camia leave my mammy.' 

^ We'll tak her hame and mak her fain, 
My ain kind-hearted Lammie ! 

We'll gie her meat, we'll gie her claise, 
We'll be her comfort a' her days.' 

The wee thing gie's her hand and says,— 
' There ! gang and ask my mammy !' 

• Has she been to kirk wi' thee. 

My boy Tammy ?' 
^ She has been to kirk wi' me, 

And the tear was in her ee, — 
But O ! she's but a young thing 

Just come frae her mammy.' 



I LOO'D NE'ER A LADDIE BUT? ANE. 



AiK. — My lodging is on the cold ground. 

I LOO'D ne'er a laddie but ane, 
He loo'd ne'er a lassie but me ; 
He's willing to mak me his ain, 
And his ain I am willing; to be. 
He has coft me a rocklay o' blue 
And a pair o' mittens o' green 5 
The price was a kiss o' my mou, 
And I paid him the debt yestreen. 

Let ithers brag weel o' their gear, 
Their land, and their lordlie degree i 
I carena for ought but my dear, 
For he's ilka thing lordlie to me : 
His words are sae sugar'd, sae sweet ! 
His sense drives ilk fear far awa ! 
I listen — poor fool ! and I greet, 
Yet O ! sweet are the tears as they fa' I 

^ Dear lassie,' he cries wi' a jeer, 
^ Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say ; 
Though we've little to brag o' — ne'er fear^ 
What's gowd to a heart that is wae ? 



204 

Our laird has baith honours and wealthy 
Yet see how he's dwining wi' care : 
Now we, though we've naithing but healthy 
Are cantie and leil evermair. 

^ O Marion ! the heart that is true 

Has something mair costly than gear. 

Ilk e'en it has naithing to rue ; 

Ilk morn it has naithing to fear. 

Ye warldings ! gae, hoard up your store, 

And tremble for fear ought ye tyne : 

Guard your treasures wi' lock, bar, and door, 

While here in my arms I lock mine !' 

He ends wi' a kiss and a smile — 

Waes me ! can I tak it amiss ? 

My laddie's unpractis'd in guile, 

He's free ay to daut and to kiss ! 

Ye lasses wha loo to torment 

Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife, 

Play your pranks — I hae gi'en my consent. 

And this night I am Jamie's for life. 



O TELL ME HOW FOR TO WOO, 



Am. — Bonny Dundee. 

Ofi[ ! tell me, bonie young lassie ! 

Oh tell me how for to woo ! 

Oh tell mcj bonie sweet lassie ! 

Oh tell me how for to woo ! 

Say, maun Iroose your cheeks like the morning? 

Lips like the roses fresh moisten'd wi' dew ? 

Say, maun I roose your een's pawkie scorning ? 

Oh ! tell me how for to woo ! 

Far hae I wander'd to see the dear lassie ! 
Far hae I venturM across the saut sea ! 
Far hae I travelled owre moorland and mountain, 
Houseless, and weary, sleep'd cauld on the lea! 
Ne'er hae I tried yet to mak luve to onie ; 
For ne'er loo'd I onie till ance I loo'd you ; 
Now we're alane in the green-wood sae bonie ! 
— Oh ! tell me how for to woo !' 

' What care I for you wand'ring, young laddie I 
What care I for your crossing the sea ! 
It was na for naithing ye left poor young Peggy; 
It was for my tocher ye cam to court me ;■— 

Z 



266 

Say, hae ye gowd to busk me aye gawdie? 
Ribbans, and perlins, and breast-knots enew ? 
A house that is eanty, wi' walth in't my laddie ? 
Without this ye never need try for to woo/ 

^ I hae na gowd to busk ye aye gawdie ! 
I canna buy ribbans and perlins enew ! 
I've naithing to brag o', house, or o' plenty ? 
I've little to gie but a heart that is true — 
I cam na for tocher — I ne'er heard o' onie; 
I never loo'd Peggy nor e'er brak my vow — 
I've wander'd poor fool ! for a face fauce as 

bonie ! 
^ — I little thought this was the way for to woo !' 

^Our laird has fine Jiou^es^ and guineas in 

gowpins ! 
He's youthfu', he's blooming, and comely to see! 
The leddies are a' ga'en wood for the wooer, 
And yet, ilka e'ening, lie leaves tliem for me! — 
O! saft in the gloaming his luve he discloses! 
And saftly yestreen, as I milked my cow. 
He swore that my breath it was sweeter than 

roses, 
And, a' the gait bame he did naithing but woo.' 

^ Ah, Jenny ! tlie young laird may brag o' his 

sillar, 
His liouses, his iaiuls* and his lordly degree,^ 



His speeches for true luve may drap as sweet 

as honey^ 
But, trust me, clear Jenny ! he ne'er loecl like nie. 
The wooing o' gentry are the words o' fashion ; 
Tlie faster they fa' as the heart is least true! — 
The dumb look o' luve's aft the best proof o' 

passion ; 
The heart that feels maist is the least fit to woo I' 

' Hae na ye roos'd my cheeks like the nM)rning4 

Hae na ye roos'd my cheny-red raou ! 

Hae na ye come owre sea, moor, and mountain^ 

What mair, Johnie, need ye to woo? 

Far hae ye wander'd, I ken my dear laddie ! 

Now that ye've found me, there's na cause to rue; 

Wi' health we'll hae plenty — I'll never gang 

gawdie. 
I ne'er wish'd for mair than a heart that is true»* 

She hid her fair face in her true lover's bosom ; 
The saft tear o' transport fiU'd ilk lover's ee 5 
The burnie ran sweet by their side as they 

sabbit. 
And sweet sang the mavis aboon on the tree. 
He clasp'd her, he press'd her, and ca'd her 

his hinny, 
And aften he tasted her hinny-sweet mou ; 
And ay 'tween ilk kiss she sigh'd to her Johnie 
• Oh ! laddie ! — iveel can ye woo " 



TAK TENT AND BE WARY. 



* HECH ! lass, but ye^^e canty and vogie ! 
Wow ! but your e'en look pauky and roguie ! 
What war ye doing, Kate, down in yon bogie, 

Up in the morning sae airy and grey ?* 
Tve been wi' some body/ what need ye to speer ? 
Tve been wi' young Jamie! — I've been wi' my 

dear! 
—God save me ! my mither w ill miss me, I 

fear! 
D'ye ken, lass ! he's courting me a' the lang 

day!' 

^ O Kate, tak tent and be wary ! 
Jamie's a sad ane — he never will marry ; 
Think o' poor Tibby ; — he's left her to carry 

Black burning shame till the day that she'll 
die ! 
^ I carena for Tibby — a glaiket young quean ! 
Her gaits wi' the fallows we a' ken lang syne! 
The heart o' my laddie I never can tyne ! 

He promis'd to marry me down on yon lea 



269 

O no ! I need na be wary ! — 

Yes ! yes ! he means for to marry ! 

Wi' mony sweet kisses he ca'd me his deary, 

And swore he wad tak me afore Beltan day.' 
^ O Kate ! Kate ! he'll deceive ye !, 
(The de'il tak the chiel ! he does naithing but 

grieve me ! ) 
He's fu' o' deceit !— gin ye like to believe me, 

The fause loon last night tald the same tale- 
to me/ 

^ Dear Jean ! but ye^re unco camstary ! 
Ye'U ne'er let a bodie trou ever they'll marry I 
Ye've now ^e^en m<i something that's no light 
to carry, 

'Twill lie at my heart till the day that I die P 
She gaed awa sighing ! she gaed away wae 5 
Her mither tlet sair for her byding away ! 
She sat down to spin! — ne'er a word could she 
say, 

Bat drew out a thread wi' the tear in her ee. 

^ O ye§ ! — it's time to be wary ! 
Jamie's a sad ane ! — he ne'er means to marry [^^ 
He may rise in the morning, and wait till he's 
wearie ! 
He's no see my face for^this year and a d^y ! 



X.S: 



370 

She raise wi' the lavroc, she milked her cow ; 
Sat down by her leglin and 'gan for to riie : — 
Young Jamie cam by — her heart lap to her 

mou ! 
And she trou'd ilka word that the fause loon 

did say ! 
« — Hech ! sirs ! how lasses will vary ! 
Sometimes they're doubtfu'- — 'tis then they are 

wary; 
But when luve comes looping^ they ay tlfink 

we'll marry. 
And trust, like poor Kate, to what fause 

loons will say. 



MALLY AIKEN, 



AN OLD SONG REVIVED. 



Air. — Gaelic. 

' O LISTEN! listen and Til tell ye* 
How this fair maid's play'd her parfcj — 
First she vowM and promised to me^ 
Now she strives to hreak my heart!' 

Eirin O ! Mally Aiken, 

Eirin O s'dhii ma roon. 

1 coft you silken garters, Mally, 
And sleeve-knots for your tartan gown ; 
I coft you a green necklace, Mally, 
To husk you whan you gade to town : 
You gae me kisses sweet as hinny ! 
You gae me words mair sweet than true; 
You swore you loo'd me hest o' ony; 
— Ah ! why than Mally break your vow ! 

Eirin 0! Mally Aiken, 

Eirin s'dhu ma roon. 



* This verse is all the author ever heard of the orig-inal. — The 
meaning- of the Gaelic chorus is, O Mally Aitken, thou art my 
love. 



Yon auld man came wi^ wyles sae b0iii% 
He bragg'd o' laud and walth o' gear ; 
He promised braws mair fine than Johnie 
To busk ye for the kirk and fair ; 
He gae up toeher to your daddy ; — 
Your mither sigh'd and thought o' me x 
But Mally wish'd to be a ladij^ 
And changed true luve for — high degree ! 

Eirin O ! Mally Aiken, 

Eirin O s'dhu ma roon. 

He's ta'en you hame ; he's made you gawdie. 
He's busk'd you for the kirk and fair; 
But you had better ta'en your laddie> 
For hap2)iness you'll ne'er see mair ! 
You may gang to kirk an-d fair, my Mally ; 
Your face and braws catch ilka ee, — 
But happiness you'll ne^er see, Mally, 
For breaking o' your vows to me ! 

Eirin O ! Mally Aiken, 

Eirin O t^Ahw ma roon. 



TO GET A MANo 



THIS warld is a lottery, as ilk ane may ken i 
There are prizes for women as weel as for men : 
But as far as my faither and mither can see^ 
Though the're prizes for some, there aye blanks 
for me ! 

Thongh black, Vm comely ; my een's like a slae! 
Odd! Pm sure they're far better than een that 

are gi*ey ? 
Yet the lads they court Katey as fast as they 

can, 
While my father aye tells me — I HI ne^er get a 

man. 

Vm held down wi' wark frae morning till e'en, 
My claise ay unsnod, and my face seldom 

clean ! 
How the sorrow ! on me can our lads ever look 
When I gang aye sae thief- like, as black as 

the crook ! 

For fairs and for preachings I hae ?>ut ae gown ! 
(Lord! I wish I was buskM like our queans in 
the town ! ) 



27^ 

Yet wfeane'er I stay late— how my father he^li 

ban^ 
Wi' a — ^ Divil confound ye !' ye'll ne'er get a 

man !' 

Mymither aye thinks Fm to sit still and spin: 
Whan the sogers gae by, war 1 felPd I maun 

rin^ 
Then she roars, and she flytes (though the 

sam's done by Kate) 
Wi^ a — ^ Sorrows be on ye ! ye'll gang a grey 

gate !^ 

I fain wad hae Jamie but then he I00& 

Jean ; 
And rd e'en tak lean Patie, tho' just skin and 

bane 5 
But my faither and mither tauld baith him and 

Dan 
That I'm tJwee years owre young yet to hae a 

gudeman ! 

A usage sae barb'rous ! nae mortal caa bear ! 

— Odd ! they'll drive me to madness wL' per- 
fect despair ! 

If I canna get Jamie, nor yet Dan nor Pate, 

Faith I'll e'en tak the first chiel that comes i» 
my gate. 



275 

Gle'yd Sawnie^ the haiv^el, he met me yes= 

treeii, 
He roos'd first my black hair^ and syne my 

black een ! 
While he dawted and kiss'd^ tho' I ken he's a 

fool, 
Lord ! I thought that my heart wad hae loopt 

out o' hool ! 

Quo he, ' Bonny Maggy, gin ye war mine ain, 
I hae house and plenty, for wife and for wean, 
And whan my auld daddy steps aff to the 

grave, 
Faith ! we'll then had our head up as high as 

the lave.' 

I dinna like Sawnie — he's blind o' an ee ; 
But then he's the first's talk'd o' marriage to 

me; 
And whan folk are ill us'd they maun do what 

they can, 
Sae 1*11 mak them a' liars, aiid tak a GUDEMAN^ 



LASSIE Wr THE GOWDEN HAIR. 



Air. — Gaelic. 

^LASSIE wV the gowden hair, 
Silken snood, and face sae fair ; 
Lassie wi' the yellow hair, 

Think nae to deceive me ! 
Lassie wi' the gowden hair, 
Flattering smile, and face sae fair 5 
Fare ye weel ! for never mair 

Johnie will believe ye ! 
O no! Mary bawn, Mary bawn, Mary bawn,* 
O no ! Mary bawn, ye'U na mair deceive me I 

Smiling ; twice ye made me troo ; 
Twice — (poor fool !) I turned to woo; 
Twice, fause maid ! ye brak your vow, 

Now Fve sworn to leave ye ! 
Twice, fause maid ! ye brak your vow. 
Twice, poor fool ! Fve learn'd to rue — 
Come ye yet to mak me troo ? 

Thrice ye'U ne'er deceive me ! 
No ! no ! Mary bawn, Mary bawn, Mary bawn ! 
O no ! Mary bawn ! thrice ye'U ne'er deceive me. 

* 13a\vn, (Gaelic) fair, white, generally applied io the hair. 



S77 

Mary saw him turn to part ; 

Deep his words sank in her heart; — = 

Soon the tears began to start — 

' Johnie, will ye leave me !^ 
Soon the tears began to start, 
Grit and gritter grew his heart ! — 
' Yet ae word before we part, 

Luve couM ne^er deceive ye ! 
O no ! Johnie dow, Johnie dow, Johnie dow,^ 
O no! Johnie dow — luve cau'd no^er deceive 
ye.^ 

Johnie took a parting keek, 

Saw the tears hap owre her cheek \ 

Pale she stood, but coudna speak! — 

Mary's cur'd o' smiling. 
Johnie took anither keek — 
' Beauty's rose has left her cheek !— 
Pale she stands, and canna speak. 

This is nae beguiling. 
O no ! Mary bawn, Mary bawn, dear Mary 

bawn, 
No; no ! Mary bawn — Luve has nae beguiling. 

* Dow, (Gaelic) black, generally applied to the hair. 



A a 



JEANIE\S BLACK EE; 

OB 
THA' MI 'N AM CHODAL, 'SNA FJUISGIBH MI 

AiK.— Cauld Frosty Morning. 

THE sun raise sae rosy^ the grey hills adorn- 
ing! 

Light sprang the lavroe and mounted sae hie; 

When true to the tryst o' blythe May's dewy 
morning 
My Jeanie cam linking out owre the green 
lea. 

To mark her impatience^ I crap 'mang the 

brakens, 
Aft^ aft to the kent gate she turn'd her black 

ee; 
Then lying down dowlie^ sigh'd by the willow 

trecj 
^Ha me mohatel na douska me.^'^ 



* I am asleep, do not waken me. — The gaelic chorus Is pro. 
tnounced according to the present orthography. 



279 

Baft through the green birks I sta^ to my jewel, 
Streik'd on spring's carpet aneath the saiigh 

tree ! 
* Think na^ dear lassie, thy Willie^s been cruel,' 
^Ha me mohatel na douska me.^ 

^ Wi^ luve's warm sensations Tve markM your 

impatience, 
Lang hid *mang the brakens I watch'd your 

black ee— 
You*re no sleeping, pawkie Jeiin! open thae 

lovely een !' 
^ Ha me mohatel na douska me.^ 

^Brlgbt k th© whiri-i bloom ilk green dow 
adorniug ! 

Bweet is the primrose bespangled wi' dew ! 

Yonder comes Peggy to welcome May morn- 
ing ! 

Dark waves her haffet locks owre her white 
brow ! 

! light ! light she's dancing keen on the 

smooth gowany green. 
Barefit and kilted half up to the knee ! 
While Jeanie is sleeping still, I'll rin and sport 

my fill/— 
^I was asleep, and ye've waken'd me !' 



S80 

TU rin and whirl h«r round; Jeanie is sleep- 
ing sound ; 
Kiss her and clasp her fast ; nae ane can see ! 
Sweet ! sweet's her hinuy mou' — ' Will^ I'm 
no sleeping now, 
I was asleep, but ye waken'd nie.' 

Laughing till like to drap, swith to my Jean I 

lap, 
Kiss'd her ripe roses and blest her black ee ! 
And ay since whane'er we meet, sing, for the 
sound is sweet, 
• Ha me mohatel na doiisku me/ 



THE 



PLAID AMANG THE HETHBR. 

Am.— Old Highland Laddie. 

THE wind blew hie owre muir and lea, 
And dark and stormy grew the weather 5 
The rain rain'd sair ; nae shelter near 
But my luve's plaid amang the hether : 
O my bonie highland lad ! 
My winsome;, weelfar'd, highland laddie 
Wha wad mind the wind and weit 
Sae weel row'd in his tartan pladdie ? 

Close to his breast he held me fast ; — - 
Sae cozy, warm, we lay thegither ! 
Nae simmer heat was half sae sweet 
As my hive's plaid amang the hether ! 
O my bonny, &c. 

Mid wind and rain he tald his tale 5 
My lightsome heart grew like a feather ^ 
It lap sae quick I coudna speak, 
But silent sigh'd amang the hether ! 
O my bonny, &c. 

A a 2 



The storm blew past ; we kiss'd in haste ^ 
I hameward ran and tald my mither ; 
She gloom'd at fi?st, but soon confessed 
The bowls row'd right amang the hether I 
O my bonny^ &c. 

Now Hymen^s beam gilds bank and stream 
Whar Will and I fresh flowers will gather 5 
Nae storms I fear^ IVe got my dear 
Kind hearted lad amang the hether ! 

O my bonnie highland lad 

My winsome, weelfar'd highland laddie ! 

Should storms appear, my Will's ay near 

To row me in his tartan pladdie. 



GOME UNDER MY PLAIDY; 



MODERN MARRIAGE DELINEATED. 



AiH. — Johnie MagglU, 

* COME under my plaidy, the night's gau' to 

fa%- 
Come in frae the could blast^ the drift, and the 

snaw 5 
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside 

me; 
There's room in't, dear lassie ! believe me, for 

twa. 
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me, 
I'll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw : 
O ! come under my plaidy, and sit down beside 

me, 
There's room in't, dear lassie ! believe me, for 

twa/ 

^ Gae 'wa wi' your plaidy T auld Donald, ga 'wa, 
I fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw ; 
Gae 'wa wi' your plaidy! I'll no sit beside ye ; 
Ye may be my gutcher i-^-auld Donald gae 'vva'^ 



S84! 

Pm gau'ii to meet Johnie, he's young and he's 

bonnie ; 
He's been at Meg's bridal, sae trig and sae 

braw ! 

nane dances sae lightly ! sae gracefu' ! |ae 

tightly ! 
His cheek's like the new rose, his brow like 
the snaw 1 

^ Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa'^ 
Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naithing ava ; 
The hale o' his pack he has now on his back, 
He's thretty, and I am but three'core and twa. 
Be frank now and kindly 5 I'll busk you aye 

finely ; 
To kirk or to market they'll few gang sae braw 5 
A bein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in, 
And flunkies to tend ye as aft as ye ca.' 

^ My father's ay tauld me, my mither and a% 
Ye'd mak' a gude husband, and keep me ay 

braw ; 
It's true I loo Johnie, he's gude and he's bonie^ 
But waes me ! ye ken he has naething ava ! 

1 hae little tocher ; you've made a gude offer ; 
^ I'm now mair than twenty ; ray time is but sma' ! 

Sae gi' me your plaidy^ I'll creep in beside ye^ 
I thought ye'd been aulder than threescore and 
twa.' 



2Bo 

She crap in ayont bira, aside the stane wa', 
Whar Johnie was listening, and heard her tell 

a'; 
The day was appointed ! his proud heart it 

dunted^ 
And strack 'gainst his ^de as if bursting in tvva. 
He wauder'd hame weary, the night it was 

dreary ! 
And thowless; he tint his gate deep 'mang the 

snaw ; 
The hoM'let was screamin'; while Johnie cried 

^ women 
Wa'd marry auld nick if he'd keep them aye 

bra'. 

the deel's in the lasses ! they gang now sae 

bra', 
They'll lie down wi' auld men o' fourscore and 

twa ; 
The hale o' their marriage is gowd and a car= 

riage ; 
Plain luve is the cauldest blast now that cau 

blaw ! 



VALOUR SHIELDS THE BRAVE.* 



Air.— An old Craeiic tune 
I. 

J: hark !— hark ! the sound of battle ! 
Warning thrice, the cannon^s rattle ! 
Fast o^er plain and mountain brattle 
Scotia's thousands brave ! 
ftl. Never !•— never mair to tell 

When freedom fought !-^wliere valour fell ! 
Nor return I till death^s gad knell 

Tell WRVi'Iors t@ thi gray© ! 
/. Awa wi' fear!— $top that tear ! 
Freedom's cause to freemen's dear ! 
Talour^ Annie ! — -valour ! valour ! 

True valour shields the brave ! 

11. 

tl, Whar shields the helpless? Johnnie, 
Wha guards a wife like Annie ? 
Trembling here, wi' infants bonnie ! 
SeverM frae the brave ! 



* Written during the prospect of an immediate invasion. The 
song represents the parting between a husband ajid wife, on the 
fifst signal of the enemy's approach. 



S87 

Wha smiles to banish fear ? 
Wha remains to stop tiie tear? 
X Faithful love, and heaven's kind care, 

My Annie's peace will save ? 
Then banish dread ! —tear ne'e.r shed I 
Gfellia^s chains for slaves are made ? 
Britons^ Annie I—Britons ! Britons ! 

Free Britons scorn the slave I 

III. 

J. Gang — gang ! then, dearest Johnnie ! 
Slavery's ill's the Vi^arst o' ony !— 
Heaven and virtue guard your Annie !— 

Crod direct the brave \ 
This warm kiss before you start ! 
Place this token near your heart !~ 
Friendship now and peace maun part^ 

Dear freedom*s cause to save! 
J. Then banish dread !— tear ne'er shed ! 
If freedom fa's, love's joys drap dead ! 
Freedom, Annie ! Freedom ! Freedom ! 

Blest freedom ! or— the Grave ! 

IV. 

Wi' trembling hand, and heart sair knockin, 
Round his neck she tied love's token ; 
Sighed, and cried in words half spoken, 
Heaven shields the brave ! 



288 

The trumpet blew ! the warrior flew 5 
Met Scotia's freemen, dauntless, true ! 
Firm their step ! ranks Red and Blue, 

Cried, Victory, or the Grave? 
Then, Tyrant, dread ! to conquest led 
Bands in freedom's armour clad! — 
Freedom ' Tyrant !^ — Freedom ? Freedom ! 

Blest Freedom ! shield the brave I 



THE 



AULD WIFE'S LAMENT.— 180*. 



AiR.—A rock, and a wee pickle tow. 

THIS vvaild o' ours has been lang in a low!— ^ 
I wonder wha bred the beginning o't? 
God send us a rock, and a wee pickle tow ! 
And let us again to the spinning oH ! 
Our spinning, God help us ! is no ganging 

right; 
Our men they're for fighting; our woman tak 

fright ; 
We're vap'ring a' day ; and we're blind-fou at 

night : 
—But wha yet has heard o' the winning o't ? 

They crack o' our trade ; and they crack o^ our 

walth ; 
They brag o' our mills that are spinning o't ; 
But, spite o' our boasting, and spite o' our pelf^ 
Good faith ! I hear few that are winning o't. 
B b 



mo 

bur wabsters are breaking, our looms they stand 

still ! 
Our lads doing little but tending the drill! — 
I doubt if e'en lairds now their ponehes can 

fill— 
— Oh, hon! for the wearie beginning o't! 

They're plenty, nae doubt, who can had their 

head high, 
And ay wad be thought to be winning o't ; 
We're a' ganging fine ; but we ay keep abeigh, 
When folk wad keek in at the spinning oH. 
Our houses are glittering; our lasses gang bra' ! 
Our tables are costly — our pride's warst o' a' ! 
But gin we gae on, we shall soon get a fa' ! 
And then we'll hear nought but the tyning o't! 

Oh — oh! for the time when we sat at our Weel, 
And ilka aiie §ang to ihs spinning o't! 
A canty Hre-side, and a cap o' good ale, 
Gaed ay sweetly down wl' the winning o't!^— 
We're strutting ! — we're blawing ! morn, e'en- 

ing and noonj 
We're wishing to see our French friends unco 

soon ! 
But gif Bonaparte gangs on as he's done, 
We'll neither see end nor beginning o't ! 



29i 

Yet think na, my lads, ye are yet to lye by !.-^ 

Its ay right to try a beginning o't ; 

When folk are sair put, they maun e'en < ride 

and tie ;' 
Its better than gi' up the spinning o't: 
Then up wi' your muskets, and up wi' your 

might ! 
And up wi' youre signals and fires cm ilk 

height ! 
If ance we g^t steddy, we yet may get right,- 
And; ablins; ere lang prie the winning o't l[ 



THEKE'S NOUGHT I SEE, 
TO FEAR NOW. 

Air. — The king sits in Dumfermlin town. 

OUR good king sits in Windsor tower^ 
The sun-beams glint sae cheerfu' ! 
A birdie sang in yonder bower. 
And O ! but it sang fearfu^ ! 
Tell me, my bird, my mourning bird, 
What is't you sing so drearie ? 
I sing o^ danger, fire, and sword, 
Fell faes are coming near ye ! 

The king slept on his terraced height, 
His heart was bauld and cheerie ; 
^^ I fear no foe, by day or night, 
Wliile Britain's sons are near me !'' 
The bird ay sang upon the tliorn. 
And ay its sang was fearfu^ ; 
Good king ! your ships maun sail the morn, 
For England's faes are near you. 

The king looked frae his castle hie «' 
His looks was blythe and airy ' 



'^ There's not a foe dares face the sea ! 

Brave England's tars are there ay.'' 

The birdie sang ay on the thorn^ 

But now its sang grew cheerfu', 

Good king ! we'll laugh your faes to scorn \ 

There's nought I see to fear now ! 

The birdie flew on blythsome wing, 
And O ! but it sang rarely ; 
And ay it sang, '' God bless our king ! 
Bauld Britons luve him deerly." 
It flew o'er hill, it flew o'er lea, 
It sang o'er moor and hether. 
Till it came to the north countrie, 
Whar a' sang blythe thegither. 

They sang o' fame and martial might, 

(The pride o' Scottish story) 

They sang o' Edward's wars and flight, 

And Bruce's radiant glory ! 

They laughed at Gallia's threat'ning ills-^ 

(Their shield was Patriot-honour ;) 

They rushed down Freedom's heath-flowered* 

hills. 
And, rattling, joined her banker ? 



B b 



JOHNIE! CAN YOU PITY ONY 



Air. — Katey, will ye marry Patie.*' 

O JOHNIE ! can you pity ony ! 
Is your heart yet turn'd to stane ? 
Can ye calmly hear that Menie 
Ne'er will see your face again ? 
Here I've wander'd wae and weary ; 
Here I've fought wi' wind and rain ; 
Here I've sworn your ance loo'd deary 
Ne'er will see your face again. 

Owre lang hae I pin'd in sorrow : 

Owre lang hae I sigh'd in vain ; 

Hearts> tho' leil, can sometimes horrow 

Pride whan treated wi' disdain ! 

Then tak your smiles and fause deceiving^ 

Gie them to a heart mair true ! 

— Mine, alas ! is cliang'd wi' grieving ' 

Torn by faitliless luve and you. 

* This is an attempt to shew that many of our Scottish airs 
jhitherto accounted lively, are (if sung- slow and accompanied 
with appropriate wpr^is) likewise favourable for the tender or 
the pathetic. 



Yet ae word before our partings 

(Since for ever mair we part) 

In the midst o' pleasure — starting, 

Menie's wrangs will wring your heart ! — 

For Johnie gin ye pity ony, 

Gin your hearts no turn'd to stane, 

Ye maun rue tke cause that Menie 

Ne'er will see yoftr face again. 



THE 



SCOTTISH MUSE. 



JAMAICA, 1793. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



UNDER the influence of a distressing state of 
iiealth, which had continued unabated for six years, 
the following poem was composed in the island of Ja- 
maica, whither the author went with a view of trying 
the effects of a tropical climate. If it possesses no 
other merit, it may at least lay claim to simplicity of 
sentiment and diction, and to a faithful representation 
of events during a life of vicissitude, of which the pre- 
sent piece may be considered as a poetical epitome* 
These, it is true, furnish little to excite astonishment 
or rouse imagination; and, consequent!}^, perhajis, 
]ittle to procure public approbation. They may, 
however, tend to illustrate an important truth to the 
afflicted, namely, that in the human mind there are 
resources wliich, if called into action, can amuse and 
solace in the hour of adversity when all the allure- 
ments of pleasure and all the luxuries of wealth will 
fail j for often 

Ingenium res adversre nudare solent celere secunds- 



THE 

SCOTTISH MtTSEe 



Kow, good Cesario, but that piece of song, 
That old and antique song we heaid last night : 
Methought it did relieve my passion much : 
More than light airs, and recollected terms 
Of these more brisk and giddy^paced times.— 

Shakespeahe. 



O WELCOME simply soothing treasure ! 
In midst o' pain my lanely pleasure ! 
Tutor'd by thee, and whispering leisure, 

I quit the thrang, 
And, wrapt in bless'd retirement, measure 

Thy varied sang ! 



Kind, leil companion ! without thee, 
Ah welladay ! what should I be!* 

* The author's complaints were such, that, unable either to 
read or write above a few minutes ^vithout distress, his only 
aftiusement was to compose by the help of memory alone. It may, 
perhaps, be worth mentioning, that Will and Jean, the Waes o» 
War the Links o' Forth, and the present poem, were all compo- 
sed by memory, previously to the commitment of a single line to 
paper. ° 

C c 



30a 

Whan jeer'd by fools wha canna see 
My inward pain, 

Aneath tby sheltering wing I flee 
And raak my mane. 

There seated, smiling by my side, 
For hours thegither wilt thou bide, 
Chanting auld tales o' martial pride 

And luve's sweet smart! 
Till glowing warm thy numbers glide 

Streight to the heart. 

^Tis then wi' powerful plastic band 
Thou wav'st thy magic- working wand 
And stirring up ideas grand 

That fire the brain, 
Aff whirl'st me swith to fairy land 

'Mang fancy's train. — 



Bear'd by disease whan balmy rest 
Flees trembling fiae her downy nest; 
Starting frae horror's dreams opprest, 

I see thee come 
Wi' radiance mild that cheers the breast 

And lights the gloom! 

Heartening thou courst, wi* modest grace. 
Hope, luve, and pity, in tliy face, 



303 

And gliding up wi' silent pace 

My plaints to hear, 

Whisper'st in turn tliae soothing lays 
Saft in my ear. ^ 

^ III fated wanderer ! doom'd to mane ! 
Wan sufferer ! bleech'd wi' care and pain ! 
How chang'd alas ! since vogie vain, 

Wi' spirits light, 
Ye haird me first in untaught strain 

On Strevlin's height ! 

' Ah me ! how stark ! how blithe ! how bauld 
Ye brattPd then through wind and cauld ! 
Reckless, by stream, by fii'th and fauld 

Ye held your way ; 
By passion ruPd ; by luve enthrall'd, 

Ye pour'd the lay, 

^'Twas then, entranced in am'rous sang, 
I markM you midst the rural thrang ; 
Ardent and keen, the hail day lang 

Wi' Nature tane. 
Slip frae the crowd and mix amang 

Her simple train. 

' 'Twas then I saw (alas ! owre clear !) 
Your future thriftless, lost career ? 



304 

And while some blam'd, vvi' boding fear^ 

The tunefii' art, 
Your moral pride and truth sincere 

Aye wan my heart. 

^ He ne'er can lout/ I musing said, 
' To ply the fleeching, fawning trade ; 
Nor bend the knee, nor bow the head 

To ivalth or power/ 
But backward turn wi' scornfu' speed 

Frae iiatt'ry's door. 

^ He'll never learn his bark to steer 
^Mid passion^s sudden^ wild career 5 
Nor try at times to tack or veer 

To infresfs gale, 
But hoist the sheet, unaw'd by fear, 

Tlio' storms prevail. 

^Owre proud to ask; — owre bauld to yield! 
Whar will he find a sheltering beild ? 
Whan poortith's blast drifts cross the field 

Wi' wintry cauld, 
What will be wone — poor feckless chield ! 

Whan frail and auld ? 

^ Year after year in youtheid's prime, 
Wander he will, frae clime to clime^ 



365 

Sanguirie wi' hope on wing sublime 
Mount heigh in air ! 

But than — waes me ! there comes a time 
O^ dool and care ! 

^ There comes a time ? — or soon, or late, 
O' serious thought and sad debate ; 
Whan blighted hope and adverse fate 

Owrespread their gloojn, 
And mirk despair, in waefu' state, 

Foresees the doom ! 

^ — And maun he fa' ! (I sighing cried) 
Wi' guardian honour by his side ! 
Shall fortune frown on guiltless pride 

And straits owretake him ! 
— Weel ! blame wha like — whatever betide 

I^se ne'er forsake him ! 

-' Ardent I spake ! and frae the day 
Ye hail'd me smiling ; youthfu' gay 
On AichiVs whin-flower'd fragrant brae 

I strave to cheer ye ! 
Frae morn's first dawn to e'en's last ray 

I ay was near ye, 

* Frae west to east* — frae isle to isle, 
To India's shore and sultry soil 5 

* West and East Indies. 

€ c 2. 



306 

^Mid tumult, battle, care, and toil, 

I following flew ; 
Ay smoothed the past, and wak'd the smile 

To prospects new. 

^ Whan warfare ceas'd its wild uproar 
To Elephanta's* far-fam'd sliore 
I led ye ardent to explore 

Wi' panting heart, 
Her idle monuments o' yore 

And sculptured art. 

^ Sweet flew the hours ! (the toil your boast) 
On smiling Salsett^s cave-wrought coast ! — 
Though hope was tint — tho' a' was cross'df 

Nae dread alarms 
Ye felt — fond fool ! in wonder lost 

And nature's charms ! 

^Frae east to west, frae main to main, 
To Carib's shores returnM again ; 
In sickness, trial, hardship, pain, 

Ye ken yoursell, 
Brapt frae the muse's melting strain. 

Peace balmy fell. 

* See the autlior's account of the caves of Elephanta^ Canary, 
and Amboluy published in ihe eighth volume of the Archseologia, 

f An unexpected change in administration, at home, blasted 
all Ihe author's fair prospects in India, 



307 

' Fell sweet ! for as she warbling flew, 
Hope lent her heav'ns refreshing dew j 
Fair virtue close, and closer drew 

To join the lay ; 
While conscience bright, and brighter grew^ 

And cheer'd the way !— 

' Whether to east or westward borne, 
(Or flushM wi' joy, or wae-forlorn) 
Ye hail'd the fragrant breath o' morn 

Frae orange flower, 
Or cassia=bud, or logwood thorn. 

Or Guava bower : 

* Or frae the mist-cap'd mountain blue 
InhaVd the spicy gales that flew 
Rich frae Pimento's * groves tliat grew 

In deepening green 
Crown'd wi' their flowers o' milk-white hue 
In dazzling sheen ! 

• Whether at midnoon* panting laid, 
Ye woo'd coy zephyr's transient aid 
Under the Banyan's pillar'd shade,^' 

On plain or hill, 



seems another morn 



Risen on midnoon. Milto^o 



808 

Or Piaintain green, that rustling played 
Across the rill : 

^ Or ^neath the tam^nd's sheltering gloom^ 
Drank coolness wafted in perfume, 
Fresh frae the shaddack^s golden bloom, 

As fluttering gay 
Hummed saft the bird o' peerless plume,c 

Frae spray to spray ! 

^ — Whether at eve, wi' raptur'd breast 
The shelving palm-girt beach ye prest. 
And e'ed, entranc'd the purpling west 

Bepictur'd o'er,^ 
As ocean murmuring, gently kiss'd 

The whitening shore : 

^ Whether at twilight's parting day 
Ye held your solemn musing way, 
Whar through the gloom in myriad ray 

The fire-flies gleam ;? 
And ^thwart the grove in harmless play 

The light'nings stream ! 

^Or, by the moon's bright radiance led, 
Koam'd late the Guinea-verdur'd glade* 

* Guinea grass pasture ; See Edward's hist. 8vo. vol. i, p. 18$, 



aog 

Where tower'd the giant Ceiba's shade ;t 

And, loftier still, 
The Cabbage* rears its regal head 

Owre palni-crowft'd hill. 

• Still following close, still \vhisph*ing near 
The muse aye caught your listening ear; 
'Mid tempest^s rage and thunder's rair 

Aye cheering sang: — 
Touched by her hand (unchilFd by fear) 
The Harp strings rang.f 

* Returned at last frae varied clime^ 
Wliar youth and hope lang tint their time, 
Ance mair to Strevlin's height sublime 

We wing'd our way ; 
Auce mair attun'd the rural rhime 
On xiichil brae. 

^ 'Twas then my native strains ye lear'djj 
For passion spake while fancy cheer'd ; 

* The palmeto royal^or mounlain cabhaj^e, from 150 to 200 
feet in height; a tree, says Mr. Edwards, which without doubt, 
is among the most graceful of all the vegetable creation. 

f The Second part of * The Harp' was composed during the 
author's first passage home from Jamaica. 

■^ The author's first attempts in Scottish poetry were the com- 
posing of words to some of our most simple pastoral and gaelic 
airs. The success induced him afterwards to attennpt in the 
iame dialect subjects of more importance. 



310 

And while wr flaunting airs ye flar\l 
And thought to shine ; 

But Nature — judging nature sneer'd 
And ca'd it — fine! 

*' Stung wi' the taunt, ye back recoiUd, 
Pensive ye mus'd ; I mark'd and smiVd ; 
Daund'ring depress'd 'maug knows flower'd 
wild, 

My aten reed 
Ye faund ae bonny morning mild 

^Tween Ayre and Tweed. 

^'Tweeu past'ral Tweed and wand'ring Ayr, 
Whar unbusk'd nature blooms sae fair ! 
And mony a wild note saft and clear 

Sings sweet by turns, 
Tun'd by my winsome Allan's^ ear 

And favorite Burns. 

* Trembling wi' joy ye touch'd the reed,-— 
Doubtfu' ye sigh'd and hang your head ; 
Fearfu' ye sang till some agreed 

The notes war true ; 
When grown mair bauld, ye gae a screed 

That pleas'd nae few.f 

* Allan Ramsay. 

f Alluding to the uncommon sale of * Will andJemi* which, in 
less than seven weeks after publication, went through five edi- 



311 

• By Forth's green links bedeck'd wP flowers,* 
By Clyde's clear stream and beechen bowers ',\ 
Heartsome and healthfu' flew the hours 

In simple sang, 
While Lossit'sJ braes and Ed en's J towers 

The notes prolang ! 

^ — Thae times are gane ! — ah ! welladay ! 
For health has flown wi' spirits gay; 
Youth too has fled ! and cauld decay 

Comes creeping on : 
October's sun cheers na like May 

That briglitly shone ! 

^ Yet autumn's gloom, tliough threat'ning bleak 
Has joys, gin folk cam joys wad seek ; 
Friendship and worth then social cleek 

And twine thegither, 
And gree and crack by ingle cheek 

Just like twin-brither. 

^ 'Tis then (youth's vain vagaries past, 
That please a while, but fash at last) 

tlons of 1500 copies each. Fourteen editions were thrown off be- 
fore the expiration of atwelvemonth. 

* Stirling-. f Glasgow. 

4; Los it in Cantyre, Argyleshire, where some of the son/jsj 
fi'om their reseiiiblance to ihe GueliCj were particularly relished. 
They were afterwards set lo music and published in Edinburgh^ 



31S 

Serious, our ee we backward east 

On bygane frays, 
And, marvelling, mourn the thriftless waste 

O' former days ! 

^ Then too, wi* prudence on our side, 
And moral reasoning for our guide, 
Calmly we view the restless tide 

O' warldly care. 
And cull, wi' academic pride. 

The flowers o' lare= 

' And while, wi' sure and steady pace* • 
Coy science's secret paths we trace, 
And catch fair nature's beauteous face 

In varied view, 
Ardent, though auld, we join the chace, 

And pleas'd pursue. — 

^'Tis sae through life's short circling year, 
The seasons change, and changing cheer : 
Journeying we jog, unavvM by fear : 

Hope plays her part ! 
Forward we look, though in the rear 

Death shakes the dart. 

^ Catch then the dream ! nor count it vain, 
Hope's dream's the sweetest balm o' pain : 



313 

Heaven's unseen joys may yet remain^ 
And yet draw near ye : 

Meanwhile^ ye see, I hear your mane, 
And flee to cheer ye. 

Ane too's at hand, to wham ye fled 
Frae Britain's eauld, frae misery's bed ; 
Owre seas tempestuous shivering sped, 

To Friendship's flame 5 
Whar kindling warm, in sunbeams clad, 

She hails her Graham.^ 

WV him (let health but favouring smile) 
Ance mair ye'U greet fair Albion's isle ! 
In some calm nook life's cares beguile 

Atween us twa : 
Feed the faint lamp wi' virtue's oil — 

Then^ — slip awa !' 

Tlie flatterer ceas'd, and smil'd adieu, 
Just wav'd her hand, and mild withdrew ! 
Cheer'd wi' the picture (fause or true) 

I checked despair. 
And frae that moment made a vow 

To — mourn nae mair. 

* John Graham, Esq. of Three Mile River, Jamaica; under 
whose kind and hospitable roof the present poem was composed. 

D (1 



NOTES. 

Note a, p. 307, 1. 15. 

* Fresh from pimento's groves that grew.' 

< THE pimento trees grow spontaneously, and in 
great abundance, in many parts of Jamaica, but more par- 
ticularly on hilly situations near the sea, on the northern 
side of the island, where they form the most delicious 
groves that can possibly be imagined, filling the air with 
fragrance, and giving reality, though in a very distant 
part of the globe, to our great poet's descriptions of 
those balmy gales which convey to the delighted voy- 
ager 

* Sabean odours from the sp'icy sliore 
Of Araby the bless'd. 
Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old ocean smiles.* 

I do not believe that there is, in all the vegetable crea- 
tion, a tree of greater beauty than a young pimento. 
The trunk, which is of a grey colour, smooth and shin- 
ing, and altogether free of bark, rises to the height of 
fifteen or twenty feet. It then branches out on all sides, 
richly clothed with leaves of a deep green, somewhat 
like those of the bay tree ; and these, in the month of 
July and August, are beautifully contrasted and relieved 
by an exuberance of white flowers. It is remarkable, 
that the leaves are equally fragrant with the fruit; and, I 
am told, yield in distillation a delicate odoriferous oil^ 



316 

whifth is very commonly used in the medical dispensa- 
ries of Europe for oil of cloves.* Edward's Hkt. of .the 
West Indies^ 8vo, vol. ii. p. 297. 



Note b, p. 307, 1. 21. 

'Under the banyan's pillar'd shade.' 

< This monarch of the woods/ says Mr. Edwards, ia 
h'y^ elegant history, < whose empire extends over Asia 
and Africa, as well as the tropical parts of America, is 
described by our divine poet with great exactness. 

" The fig-tree, not that kind for fruit renown'd,. 
But such as at this day to Indians known 
In Malabar and Decan, spreads his arms, 
Branching so broad and long, that in the ground 
The bearded twigs take root and daughters grow 
Above the mother tree ; a pillar'd shade 
High over-arch'd, and echoing walks between." 

Paradise Lost^ book ix. 

It is called in the East Indies, the ' banyan tree.' Mr. 
Marsden gives the following account of the dimensions 
of one near Mangee, twenty miles west of Patna in Ben- 
gal. Diameter, 363 to 375 feet; circumference of the 
shadow at noon, 1116 feet; circumference of the several 
stems, in number fiftv or sixty, 621, Hist, Sumatra, p. 
131, ^ 



317 

Note c, 308, 1. 7. 
'Humra'd soft the bird o' peerless plume.' 

« The humming bird, the most beautiful as well as the 
most diminutive of the feathered race, is fond of building 
its nest in the tamarind, orange, or bastard cedar-tree j 
on account, I should suppose, of the super-abundance of 
their shade. The nest is made with particular art and 
beauty. The workmanship, indeed, is no less exquisite 
than wonderful, and seem to be, in an essential manner, 
adapted as the residence of this interesting and lovely- 
bird.* Beckford*s Descrifitive Account of the Island of 
Jamaica. — For a more particular description, see vol. i. 
p. 363, 8vo. edition, of the same work. 



Note d, p. 308, I. 12. 
* Bepictur'd o'er.' 

The following very animated, though inflated descrip- 
tion of a tropical sky at sunset, is taken from the same 
author : — < Of the picturesque representation of the 
clouds in Jamaica, there is an almost daily and unspeak- 
able variety ; and the sunset of that climate has charms 
to arrest the regard, and fix the attention of every behol- 
der. At this period, when the sun-beams linger on the 
mountains, and seem reluctantly to withdraw tHeir glo- 
ries from the plain j when they just begin to die away in 
the horizon, or glitter by reflection upon the trembling 
D d 



318 

wave; — what delightful appearances, or glowing with 
lustre, or softened by shade, may not be imagined or la- 
mented in the evanescent clouds of that warm and va- 
poury region ! What imaginary islands, with all the dis- 
criminations of hill and dale, of light and gloom, of bays 
and promontories, of rocks and woods, of rivers and seas, 
may not be traced in the transcendently beautiful skies 
of that fervent climate, and treasured up for future em- 
bellishments, by those who study nature, and who delight 
to copy her charms, not only in her elevation, but de» 
cline !' vol, i. p. 80. 



Note ej p. 308, 1; I8. 

*The fire-flies gleam.* 

In the mountainous and Tnterior parts of the larger isl- 
ands, innumerable fire-flies abound at night, which have 
a surprising appearance to a stranger. They consist of 
different species, some of which emit a light, resembling 
a spark of fire, from a globular prominence near each 
eye ; and others from their sides, in the act of respiration. 
They are far more luminous than the glow-worm, and fill 
the air on all sides, like so many living stars, to the great 
astonishment of a traveller unaccustomed to the country. 
In the day-timp they disappear, Edivard's HidS, yel. I 
'T?. 8. 



319 

Note f, p. 309,1. I. 

* Where tower'd the giant Ceiba's shade.* 

' What European forest has ever given birth to a stem 
equal to that of the Ceiba (or wild cotton tree), which 
alone, simply rendered concave, has been known to pro- 
duce a boat capable of containing one hundred persons?^ 
Ed'ioard*8 Hist, vol. p. 15. 



A GLOSSARY; 

OB, 

Explanation of the words and phraseology ^ised in the 
foregoing Poems. 



.1, all 

Abeiffh^ at a shy distance 

Ablins, perhaps 

Acy amy one 

Aik, oak 

Air, or ear^ early, soon 

Ain, own 

Alane, alone 

Ance, once, at a time 

Amangy among 

Atweeuy between 

Away away 

Aye, or at/, always 

Ayonty beyond. 

B 

Jiacho-ivrey backwards 
Bachillsy shoes down in the 

heel 
Bairn, bairns, child, children 
Bauy to curse or swear 
Bang, suddenly, violently, in 

haste 
Bare/it, barefooted 
BaiiUl, bold, passionate 
Beek, to bask 
Bicker, a wooden drinking- dish, 

with two handles 
BieUly shelter 



Billie, a young fellow, a brotheJ? 
Bent, the open field, coarse 

grass 
Beltan, the third day of May, 

or Rood-day 
Bide, stay, stop, remain 
Been, or bein, wealthy, comfort- 
able — a been house, a warm, 

well-furnished one 
Birksy birken, birch trees, bir« 

chen 
Blatkerskait, a babbling, foolish 

fellow 
Blawin, blowing, puffing 
Bleezing, blazing 
Blinking, the winking half open 

slate of the eye produced by 

inebriation, intermittent light, 

twinkling 
Bonnijy bonie, beautiful, comely, 

engaging 
Brae, the side of a hill, a steep 

bank 
Brattle, noise, hurry 
Brattling, hurrying, running 
Bratv, fine in apparel, brave, 

excellent 
Braivs, finery 
Brandered, broiled 
Brander, a gridiron 
Breckan, fern 
Breeks, breeches 
Brither^ brothers, or brethem 



B22 



JBrowst, a brewing 

£rue, or broo, juice, broth, 

liquid 
JBrvnt, burned 
JSuckled, joined together in 

wedlock 
To buckle^ to engage with 
Buniy water, a small stream 
Jiurnie, a rivulet 
Jiusky to deck, to dress finely 
£i/£-ane, by-gone, past. 



Caldrife, spiritless, frigid 

Callan, a boy, a familiar term 
of kindness 

Caller, quite fresh 

Camstarie, cross, ill-natured 

Camia, cannot 

Canty;, cheerful, merry 

Carena, care not 

Cauld, cold 

Change- house, public-house 

Chappin, an ale measure, some- 
what less than an English 
quart 

Chiel, or chield, a fellow, used 
frequently with respect and 
commendation, such as a^ne 
chiel, an excellent chiel, a duin- 
tg chiel 

Claise, clothes, wearing apparel 

Clatter, conversation, idle tattle 

Clavers, foolish stories ; to da- 
ver, to talk nonsensically 

Claver, clover 

Cleading, cloathing, covering 

Cleek, to catch as with a hook 

Coft, bought 

Cozie, or cosy, warm, snug, com- 
fortable 

Co-zvrin, cowering, shivering 

Crack, to converse 

Crackie, talkative, conversible 

Craig, a rock, the neck or throat 

Crap, did creep 



Crook, a hook suspended over 
the fire to hang boiling uten- 
sils on 

Croon, a tune — to croon, to hm2> 
a song or tune over. 

Cnice, brisk, smart, bold 

Cuppled, coupled, joined toge- 
ther, wedded. 



Daddie, father 

Daidle, to trifle, to be slow or 
dilatory in execution 

Dainty, fine, excellent, charm- 
ing 

Dander, to wander to and fro, 
to saunter without premedi- 
tation 

Daised, stupified with drink 

Daivered, confused, muddled 

Dinna, do not 

Dizzen, a dozen 

Dauted, caressed, much made 
of 

Doited, imbecil, stupid, super- 
anuated 

Dool, grief, sorrow 

Dotvff, sluggish, dull, inactive 

Do-wie, melancholy, sad, sor- 
rowful 

Dowine-, fading 

Dree, to suffer, to indure 

Dreerie, frightful, wearisome 

Droivthie, thirsty. 

Driiken, drunken, 

Dunted, struck, knocked 

Duda, rags. 



Kar, or air, early 

Ee, eye — een, eyes 

Evening, evening 

Eerie, frightful, fearfully, lone - 

ly, dreading spirits. 
Eild, age 



323 



Fa\faHngt fall, falling 

Faes^ foes 

Fain, happy, glad 

Fand, found 

Fardin^ farthing 

Fash, to vex, or trouble 

Fauld, fold, sheep-fold 

Fauty fault 

Fause, false 

Fearfuy fearful, frightful 

FecklesSf feeble, silly, weak 

Felt, keen, biting, horrid 

Fell'dykiWed, murdered, knock- 
ed down 

Fidging^ fidgetting fiiJging- 

fain, happy even to agitation 

Firejlaiight, flash of lightning 

Firth, Frith, pasturage ground 

Fleetch, to coax, to flatter 

Flyte, to scold, to chide 

Flet, did scold 

Flinners, orjlenders, splinters 

Flunkie, a servant in livery 

Forgee, forgive 

Foil, drunk 

Frae, from 

Fn\ full 

Fyke, to be restless, to make 
unnecessary bustle about tri- 
fles. 



any kind 

Gie or gee, to give — gae ovgi^eJ, 
gave — gi'en, given 

Gif ov gin,\{ 

Girnirig, grinning, to twist the 
features, snarling 

Glaiket, giddy, wanton, idle 

Glaive, a sword 

Glenting, gleaming, peeping, 
transiently shining ; pret. 
glent 

Gloaming, the twilight, or even- 
ing gloom 

Gleed or glyt^ squint-eyed, blind 
of one eye 

Glen, a narrow valley between 
mountains, or steep banks 

Gloom, to frown, to scowl 

Gotoans, daisies, dandelion, &c, 

Goxvany, flowered, daisied 

Goiod, gold 

Goivden, golden 

Goxvpi7i, handfuU 

Grane, to groan, to grunt 

Gree, to agree, concord, prize 
—to bear the gree, to be de- 
cidedly the victor or supe- 
rior. 

Greet, to weep, to shed tears — ■ 

greeting, weeping grdt, 

wept 

Gnde or giiid, good 

Gudeman, husband, master of a 
family 

Gutcher, grandfather. 



Gae, to go ; ga^en has gone 

Gade, went 

Gane, gone 

Gang, go 

Gate, road, way, manner— ^r^y. 
gate, a worthless, wicked 
course of life 

Gaun, going 

Gatvky, an idiotical, idle star- 
ing person 

Geaf, riches, wealth, goods of 



H 



mi\ hall 

Baddies, haddocks 

Hue, to have 

/f(ij:t, the temple, the cheek, 

the side of the head 
Jlaflins, partly, nearly half 
Ha&h, a careless slovenly per] 

son 
Ilairst, harvest 



324? 



Haiverely a foollsk idle babbler 

Haiversy nonsense, idle talk 

tiaUy all the whole, healthy 

Harney home 

ffamespuji, spun, or made at 
home 

Handfu\ a word signifying dif- 
ficulties in life, struggling 
with the world 

Hapy happen, occur 

Harnsy brains 

Harkenedy listened to 

Haughsy low lying ridh lands, 
valleys 

ffeartsome, blithe, happy 

Hech ! Oh ! strange ! heighho ! 

H^d, he would 

Heezy to raise up, to elevate 

Jlempie, a mad tricky wag, such 
for whom the hemp grows 

Hether, heath 

HiCy high, lofty 

Himsely himself— /terse/, herself 

Hinnyy honey, an epithet of en* 
dearment 

Ilirpley to move slowly and 
lamely 

Hooly, slowly, leisurely, cauti- 
ously 

Horning, the name of a Scotch 
law paper 

Hott) a hollow or dell 

Ho-wlet, the owl 

Horvm or holm, plain Sj or nooks 
on river sides 

Ho-wt! tui! poh! fy! 

Hummin, Jmmmiii liguor, liquor, 
brisk, frothy, making a hum- 
ming noise 

Huntin, hunting. 



Ilk, each 
liky, every 
IngUy fire 
Ingle-cheeky fire-side 



/V, I shall, asm >• I will. 

K 

Kaimedy combed 

Kepp, to catch a thing that 

moves towards one — kepty 

caught 
Keeky peep 
Ken, to know 

Kiltedy the clothes tucked up 
Kin, kindred 

Kipper, salmon corned and dried 
Kno-wsy knolls, hillocks, or 

swells 
Kt/Cy kine cows. 



Laddie, a boy, a youth, dim. of 

lad 
Laigh, low flame 
Laith, loth 
Lamiey dim. of lamb 
Laney alone 
Lanely, lonely 
Lang, long 
Langsyne, long ago 
Xo/>, did leep 
Leed, lead 
Linksy windings of a river, a 

large open plain or valley 
Linkin or //«A:a?j, tripping along, 

walking briskly 
Lint, ftax 

JAnttvhite, flaxen, fair, a linnet 
Lintie, dim. of linnet 
Loo, or loe, to love — loo^dy loved 
Loun, rogue, villain 
Loupin, leaping, jumping 
Lout, to bend, to bow down 

making courtesy, to stoop 
Loiv, flame 

Lorm, calm, sheltered 
Lugs, ears — deeply laid theii' 

Irgsy a phrase denoting deep, 

or long drinking 



Liive, love. 



3S5 



M 

J fair f more 

»lf«^, make 

JIaist, most, almost 

jyianfu^, martly, bold, dauntless 

MauchlesSf sluggish, listless, 

dull 
^Taurii must 
Ma-win, mowing 
Marrow, mate, fellow, equal 
Maivis, the thrush 
Mealing, a farm 
Meikle or miickle, much, big, 

large, a great deal 
Miimy, mother 

Mirk, dark — mirkt/, darkening 
Mither, mother 
Mont/, many 
Mou, mouth 
MouthiCy dim. of mouth 



N 



JV't/, no, not 
JVae, no' not one 
JSTaithiyig, nothing 
^JVane, none 

JVappyliguory good beer or ale 
JVeebor, neeboring, neighbour, 

neighbouring 
JVews, newspapers 
JViest, next 
JVicAr, auld Mck, the devil. 



O',of 

Ony, any 

OwA?, owA^/t;', week, weekly 
Owre, over, too, too much 
Oiito-wre) quite over. 



Painches, tripe 

JParvkie, sly in look, word, oi' 

action, witty, cunning, witli= 

out harm or design 
Pick, pitcli — pick mirk, pitch 

dark 
Pith, strength, might, force 
Plack, and old Scotch coin, In 

value the third of a penny 

Scotch, twelve of which make 

a penny English 
Pletvin, plowing 
Plisky, a trick 
Ploijs, rural amusements ot 

merry makings 
Poortith, poverty 
Poutch, pocket 
Poll, or pu, pull 
Powy head, skull, noddle 
Pried, tasted 
Pair, poor 
Piind, pound, pounds. 



Q 



Quean, a country wench, a 
hussy. 



R 



Raise, arose 

Rair, roar 

Rashes, rushes 

Rave tore asunder. 

Raver, a robber 

Reaming", frothing, creaming 

Reekit, smoked 

Reckless, or rackless, heedless, 

regardless 
Rin, run, to run 
Rizzard, fish slightly salted and 

hung up for a day or two 
Rockloif, a long cloak or mantle 



E e 



3B6 



Rodickins, part of the intestines 

of a sheep 
Hoose, to praise> to commend 
Roivpit, exposed to public sale, 

or auction 
Jio7ved, rolled wrapped 
Jiiie, to repent 
-Sw^, to tear, to pull violently. 



Sae, so 

Sair, sore, hard 

,Scifi, soft 

Sark, shirt or smock 

Smigh, a willow, or sallow tree 

.Saw/, soul 

Satu, salt 

Sax, six 

Scaith, or Sknith, harm, hurt, 

damage, loss 
Scauld, scold 
iSconner, or Skiinner^ to loath, 

to turn the stomach 
Screig-h'd, screamed 
.S'.-Z, self 

6Virttf, "Jia-iuing, to shew, shew- 
ing — s/ia-u', likewise signifies 
a smalUvoodin ahollow place 
Shivpit, weak, streng-thless, spi- 
ritless 
Sic, such 

Siller, silver, money, wealth 

Simmer, summer 

Sin, since 

Sitifu*, sinful 

Si7isy7ie, since, then, since that 
time 

Skelpin, to run, to walk briskly 

Skelp, to strike, to slap, to flog 
the buttocks 

S'ae, sloe 

Slaw, slow 

Slee, sly 

Slacken, to quench the thirst 

Sma\ small 



Snatv, snow 

Sneck, the latchet of a dcoi" 

Siiell, sharp, bitter, biting 

S7iod, neat, tight, tidy 

Snood, the band for tying up 
women's hair 

Sonde, plump, jolly, comely, 
fortunate 

Sod^fer, soldier 

Sough, the sound of v.'ind 
among trees, any distant 
murmuring sound 

Southhin, southern 

Spate, or spait, a flood or over- 
flowing torrent 

Speer, to ask, to inquire 

Span, spun 

Stalwart, strong and valiant 

Staiie, stone 

Stot, to walk with a short irre- 
gular step, to rebound — a 
slot, a bullock 

Sto-nvn, stolen 

Stark, strong, stout 

Staiv, or sta', did steal, to sur- 
feit 

Stedding, the house belonging 
to a farm 

Steeve, stifl', strong 

Straeberry, strawberry ; strae^ 
straw 

S track, struck 

Strave, slrove 

Streeked, stretched 

Sxveer, loth, lazy, unwilling 

Swith, swift, quickly 

Sivlther, to hesitate in choice, 

irresolute determination 
Siine, then 
Synd, to wash down, to i*ln&e 



Tak, take 
Tane, taken 
Tun^ oUi enlisted 



3S7 



Tap, top 

Tartan, cross striped stuff of 
various colours, the High- 
land plaid 

Tent, care, caution — to talc tent, 
to take heed 

Thack, theeked thatch, thatched 

Thae, those 

Thegither, together 

Tkir, these 

Thok, to bear, to indure 

Tkowlcss, inactive, spiritlessj 
dozened, silly 

Thra-ward, cross, stubborn, fro- 
ward 

Thrang, throng", a crowd 

Thretttj, thirty 

rimd, a loud intermittent noise, 
a blast, a stroke 

rinid, tide, or time, proper or 
fit time ; a term used in as^ri- 
crdturc 

Tid, tide or time, a term used in 
agriculture 

Tine, to lose 

Tint lost ■ 

Tirl, to make a slight noise 

Tither, tjie other 

Tscher, marriage portion 

Trig, neat, tidy, spruce 

T'on, or true, to credit, or be- 
lieve 

Tryst, appointment 

T-wa, two 

'T~.vad, it would. 

u y V 

Unco, strange, uncouth, extra- 

oi'dinary 
Upshot, end, conclusion 
Vogie, vain, proud of 

W 

jrf'a', xvcCs, wall, walls 



Wad, would, a pledge, a pawn 

Wadna, would not 

Wae, woe — ~Maefu\ scrrowful^ 

mournful 
Waes me ! alas ! ! the pity ! 
Wair, to lay out, expend 
V/alth, wealth, plenty 
Wama, the belly, the womb 
Ware, or tvar, were 
Wark, work 
Warld, world — xoarldly, vvorld» 

ly, niggardly 
Warstled, wrestled, struggled 
Wat, to wit — / ivat, I wot, I 

know — -wat ye ? do you know ? 
Wa-wkened, awaked 
Wean, or ivee ane, a child 
Wed, weeded or did weed 
Wee, small, or little 
Wee pickle, a small quantity 
Weeh well — iveelfared, wellfa= 

vored, comely, handsome 
Ween, supposed, thought, inla- 

gined 
Weit, or lueets rain, wet 
Weir, war 

Wha, who — ivham, whom 
Whar, or tvhare, where 
Whase, whose 
Whilk, which 
Whimpering, whimpling, gurg- 

ling, whining 
Whins, furze 
Whyles, sometimes 
Wi*, with 
Winna, will not 

Windo-iv-broads, outer window- 
shutters 
Winsome, comely, desirable, 

agreeable 
Woo, to court, to make love to 
Wo»d, mad 

Wow/ an exclamation 
Wrung, wrong 
Wreaths of snaiu, heaps of snow 

blown together by the wind 



228 

}Fi/te, to blame, fault or blame. Yont, beyond, farther on 

Yonrsel, yourself 
Y Yoive, an ewe 

Ye^se ye will or shall 
F(?, frequently used for you Yautheid, youth, 

Yestreen, last ni^ht, or yester* 
night 



THE END3 



The son^t Come Under' My Plaidie, page 283, i$ given with aU tht} 
verses the author oivns, btit the song has been published in a com' 
mon pamphlet^ ending -with the four lines folloioing. As many of 
our readers may have seen it tvith these additional lines, they fire 
here inserted. 

Ye (lonards be wary, tak' tent wha you tnarry, 

For lasses vvi' their coaches they'll whip and they'll ca'. 
Till they meet wl' some Johny that's youthfu' and bonny. 

And they'll gie you some thing on yoiu' temples to- cla'^v. 



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